Professor Snape's Story
by Estiu
Summary: Snape’s past is revealed. Harry needs to trust people he dislikes. Open questions of five years are addressed. The matters of friendship and trust are major issues. PreHBP. Character death, all sorts of spoilers.
1. Snape Relents

General Disclaimer: No copyright infringement or violation of rights of any sort is intentded. No money is being made from this.

FDA disclaimer listing proper, for U.S. only:

Warning: Attention! May be addictive!

If you intend to stop reading, your local bookseller might be able to assist you.

Date of Expiry: 21st of July, 2005.

I dearly hope that no-one reading this will feel in need of Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.

Please direct complaints to my email ahead of sueing!

There will be some kind of author's notes in my profile at some point, I think.

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1. Snape Relents **

"Under no circumstances! I will not accede in any case!"

Hissing these words, the resident Potions master of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft dropped his large hands on the ancient bureau squarely with an audible bang and, leaning forward, brought his face close to that of the old wizard seated behind it.

The argument had become heated during the last half hour.

Snape's dark, rich voice had changed from a bellow of rage to a hiss of menace, and Albus Dumbledore was quite sure that this was no improvement, nor would it further the affair at all.

The two Professors had been having this particular argument over and again every other day for weeks and not gotten anywhere. It had clouded over the summer holidays, which usually were a peaceful affair at Hogwarts. Things seemed to have stalled and no truce was in sight as, for once, the Potions master seemed decided to not let the Headmaster have his way.

Severus Snape, as usual during those conversations, was pacing the office floor restlessly. He had opened the skirmish in the usual way, too, by offering his resignation in answer to the Headmaster's demand, and from there proceeded to threaten to leave without notice, both of which threats both of the contestants knew to be empty, unless the Potions Professor did not mind encountering an untimely death at the hands of one of his former victims, or friends, or his old master within the week – by those who still believed him to be a traitor, or had lost family members to his efforts, or otherwise dared to not heed the orders of Lord Voldemort concerning him.

Professor Snape's position at Hogwarts, and the fact that the school was close to impenetrable to individual misdemeanour and Dark efforts, were what had saved him so far. A massed attack of a wizarding army surely could bring the wards down, but that was not to be expected anytime soon – the preparations necessary for such a move would not likely go unnoticed.

While there was still not much danger now in leaving on short errands in irregular intervals, quitting the job had become as good as a death warrant for Snape since Voldemort's return. Even if the Dark Lord could not be entirely sure of the Potions Professor's betrayal to his cause, Snape himself would find himself utterly incapable to resume any Death Eater routine, in particular treats like Muggle-torturing, and by that give sufficient proof that he had outlived his usefulness – while, at the moment, he still was a major source of intelligence for both sides, and quite indispensable.

Snape had gone as far as to raise his voice in anger, something not many other than the man before him had experienced before, to make clear that if the brat had to know all about his private life, and in order to save Black's reputation, of all people, to boot, he would not stand for anything that might be the result.

"I will not allow my personal life to be displayed in such a manner to a stubborn, spoiled ingrate who does not know his place in life, and has no appreciation for necessity or Art!"

"I might state that you, Severus, are, at the moment, not acting any wiser than the boy," Dumbledore stated placidly.

Snape growled at that.

"Oh, never mind me!"

"Can I take that for assent?"

"Don't you dare..."

The Headmaster, calm and maddeningly understanding as ever, had merely ventured that someone would have to acquaint the boy with the whole story eventually; that none of it would really enhance Black's reputation but things had to be told that would very likely hurt the boy; that misjudgements of times past could not justify the upkeeping of prejudices; and argued that it was essential, and merely reasonable, that young Potter should know most of this tangled history before he'd put his life once more on the plate against the Dark Lord, in order to be able to fully appreciate what he was fighting for, and against, historically speaking.

"You know very well, too, Severus, that no matter how much you or I or anyone else would wish things to be otherwise, the story of his parents' deaths and his godfather's imprisonment can not be separated from that of your own life, and the boy has got a right to know!"

"You never bothered with that in earlier years", the Potions Professor grumbled.

"The boy was much younger then, and, as you know well, not granting him at least an outline of the events was one of the larger mistakes in my career, and led directly to the incident in the Ministry in spring."

"You know I disagree there, too…"

"This must not happen again!

"What is more, a little over a year ago, Voldemort was not back, and no reason to fear that he would be soon… Potter was elementary in that, as well!"

The old wizard looked a bit distraught at the memory of his misjudgements.

He'd thrown the Potions master off his ingrained track successfully by his new tack of admitting to a series of misjudgements, though. Severus Snape couldn't stand to see in distress the one man who appeared to be able to coordinate the joint efforts of an anti-Voldemort-alliance, and felt compelled to list the achievements and advantages of recent events, however small they might be.

"Not all is for the worst, Albus. Without the ... incident, the Minister would still be in denial. The Dark Lord would have every chance to choose his first strike, and that might well have been the school... It still might be."

"Well, I don't think so... and Black would still be among us..."

"The mutt", mumbled Snape, ignoring the guilt he felt behind the old man's low tone of voice, and failing entirely to perceive that circumstance a disadvantage.

"... and the Death Eaters would not have taken to random destruction of Muggle and mixed-blood homes, torturing and ransacking anyone and anything in their path, to enhance the terror of Lord Voldemort's new rise... He might be acting according to a plan, still."

"I am sure he does – it's never been that much more strategy with him. He simply wants the Ministry and the general population crazed with fear, until they are ripe to be plucked. While that is not exactly a delicate tactic, it might well work, as you know.

"He's collecting his forces, and they are huge. We might even be safer now here up north than before, as not many Welsh and Scottish wizards have joined his side... He might or might not be laying low still, otherwise – what good would that be to us?"

The old Headmaster was angry with his Professor, and showed it.

"Thank you, Severus, for your cool and precise assessment. I assume it will prove most accurate."

"Very likely so, Albus, it tends to be", the Professor went on unperturbed, deliberately disregarding the mood his Headmaster was in. There was no time whatsoever now for quibbles like that!

"Hence, all I listed are points to our advantage, and we got by them by the fight in the Ministry, sentimentalities aside. It's merely a sober, unsweetened equation", Snape pushed on mercilessly. "But it still is obscure to me where Potter does come into it, or his assumed need to know about my curriculum vitae that you advocate so."

Albus Dumbledore sighed. He'd explained that, or had tried to, a dozen times at least to the phenomenally stubborn man in front of, and had no other words left for it than the bleakest. With a sigh, he made to speak them once more.

"Foreseeably, you and the boy will have to work together closely in the future. No, don't contest that – you know it to be true. You may be the person to have to take him into close range of Lord Voldemort eventually. You know there'll be hardly another who could. Unless we allow Lucius to capture him, or some such thing."

The lack of further protestation from the Potions master showed his reluctant agreement to those facts. This was about as far as they'd ever gotten. The path of negotiation had, by now, become the trampled lawn of evasion and purposeful misapprehension, every possible position having been taken in the course of the argument, with hardly a spot of green left to find a strong stand in order to push things further…

The argument took a somersault back to an earlier point.

"To accept that, he needs to know who and what you are and, what's more, he needs to trust you in some way. Also, I want you to pick up Occlumency Lessons with him again –"

At that, Snape groaned, like he always did at this particular point.

"That would be after an adequate apology on his side, of course, and he will be asking you for it himself. Not on my order to do so, either – I doubt he's in a mood to do as I bid him anyway. I shall take it upon me, though, to make him see the necessity of that. Given that he does apologize, will you agree to my proposition?"

Professor Snape said nothing.

Dumbledore knew that it was useless to try and either outstare or out-silence the black-eyed man before him. Such intimidation tactics as there were did not work at all on this past master of intimidation. The man had resisted Lord Voldemort in worse circumstances quite effortlessly. The Headmaster wondered if shaking the Professor would help, since that was what he felt like doing, but decided against the attempt. So, after a moment, he merely continued in the old train of this conversation, suppressing another sigh.

"Later on, there may be need to teach him other things, and the Granger girl too – like what you teach your Slytherins. I cannot have those that will not join the Dark Lord lagging behind in the knowledge of the Dark Arts and defensive measures against it!"

"Why, then, would you never let me teach Dark Arts officially? It is being done in other schools, Albus!"

The Potions Professor pronounced this question like the recital of a very boring, basic recipe, indicating that he'd asked it a hundred times before and did not expect new answers, but felt the need to voice it again no less.

The Headmaster cocked his white head in an impatient gesture. This argument, too, they'd been having over and again, in this case for years, and he knew that Severus required hearing it over and again as a kind of penitence on his part. Dumbledore usually complied with the rite unperturbed, but it did grate on his nerves today.

Albus Dumbledore droned: "Have a former Death Eater teach Dark Arts at Hogwarts? The parents would just love it, as you well know – and there was even less chance for an acceptance of it when Riddle was still gone! Even if your teaching Dark Arts was generally accepted, it would not do, partly because it would put you in direct danger, and partly because of the atmosphere it would create. You do realise that, in order for you to teach the subject, your name would have to be cleared and, by that, your cover be blown completely! It would also mean that her – HER story would be devoured by the papers and the public, leaving not one shred to imagination, or quiet reminiscence…"

As usual, this final point was the only one that really counted with the Potions master.

This would not happen in his life, and he still had to find revenge. Severus Snape gritted his teeth.

The Headmaster's voice had singsonged a bit with the recital, letting his Professor know that he himself was impatient, too. Frankly, Dumbledore would have no more of it. If neither of the two people in question could be made to see sense, then there was an end to the discussion.

So, this would be an issuing of marching orders, and Professor Snape would have to comply or, indeed, quit. Dumbledore was fed up and would brook no further argument.

"Plus, you yourself suggested that it might indeed have other advantages..."

"Well, then it surely is a must."

That was all that... greasy git, Dumbledore admitted the students had a point there, would come up with!

Quite unexpectedly, the Potions Professor then changed course by striking up a new line to the old tune. Well, not new maybe, but just a little bit different and, considering the rails the conversation had been running on for years now, unfamiliar enough to make the old wizard cock his head.

"If you'd let me teach Dark Arts... The atmosphere in school right now that the new year starts can't really be deemed benevolent either, Albus, due to the remnants, or memories, of Umbridge's… teaching methods, and recent events. My training would have the great advantage of being realistic... Better than any training situation... You know that."

"Severus, quite aside of your consenting to tell the story of your life to young Harry –"

"Under no circumstance will I do that, and be forced to relive the events in the eyes of the son of my school time enemy! Let him have it straight from the Pensieve if you must, it's all in there! I gather he loves to peep at other's memories. If you put it somewhere within his reach just so that every decent person would consider it private, things needing to be seen on top, and leave it to him to discover it, he'll surely find out about it all soon enough!"

Snape was almost shouting again and only stopped then to catch his breath.

This wasn't fair toward Harry Potter at all, but Dumbledore could not bother with that now. The Potions master would find out for himself eventually if things went right.

The old Headmaster had seen the breach, and struck mercilessly.

"He has got to trust you, Severus! You are the only person capable of training him in Occlumency, and a variety of other Arts. He might trust if he's given a chance to understand..."

"As if I care... I can't deny the necessity of tempering the insolent brat for our aims... If Potter does not learn to contain himself, all will be to no avail in the end. From what you told me about the fight in the Ministry of Magic, the Dark Lord rules Potter completely, as soon as they are in the same room at the latest, and Potter can't and won't rule himself. I can't force that on him – no-one can!

"You do not mind my disgrace either, I know that much. Furthermore, I can see that you have made your mind up in the matter, Headmaster, so any appeal is as good as naught. But there is no way that I tell him about the events you have in mind. Find a way to shelter yourself temporarily, and get it over with. The only reason I agree at all is that he'll find out eventually, and that his being told by a ...sympathetic witness is to be preferred.

"Do not expect my cooperation otherwise!"

Snape turned in a swish of robes to stare out of a window.

Albus eyed his most volatile Professor seriously. Had he gotten that right?

"You would not mind letting him see some of the..."

Snape turned again and stared back. He obviously would, but Albus Dumbledore felt he'd broken the barrier of defiance here at last, unexpectedly. He would not let go now!

"Well, he HAS seen a lot, that boy, but I do not think this would do."

The man's hair wasn't that greasy, after all, what with protection spells against fumes and so on. Children were often unjust and cruel.

"...I will, then, with your permission" – Snape snorted – "take it upon me to tell that story in your place. I was about to suggest some such proceeding, but did not anticipate you to give up your own whole history like that."

Severus Snape snorted again, contemptuously. The Headmaster could never leave it at having wrung some sort of consent from him, could he?

"And by this, I'll direct the anger he will feel against my person, in the name of your future cooperation. We have already agreed as to what I will hold back. I do not expect you to spare the boy anything, or favour him in the future, but I do expect you to look at him as himself, not as his father's son, or copy. He's never really known his parents. Do try to be fair."

The Professor, while feeling to be taken advantage of, one more time in a long row of such events, sighed, straightened himself, and said: "Well then, I agree, Headmaster. I am not at all happy with your proposal, nor do I consider the measures taken to be suitable, but you know as much."

This time, Snape did turn to leave, feeling beat. He could not bring himself to feel offended by the admonishing tones regarding his conduct. That had been discussed too, and there, he had refused to compromise as well.

"I do hope we succeed. I do hope your course of action is the right one, Albus, and adequate."

The Headmaster nodded, a bit dazed by this sudden caving-in of his Potions master after months of working the man. He hoped that, too.

"As I said, you might eventually have to extend the lessons quite beyond Occlumency, and include Hermione Granger in them – supporting their Defence against the Dark Arts-club from the wings, that would be."

"I could handle that by myself much more efficiently if it would not involve Potter and the Know-It-All", Snape sighed.

"Yes you could – had you no cover to keep. And were students, other than Slytherin, to trust you. I do believe you will enjoy that last part quite a bit anyway; it is not as if these two were morons, after all. Do not make it too easy for them though!"

A nasty smile crept over the Potions master's face.

"Do you honestly believe that I'd ever make anything easy for your precious little Gryffindors? For Potter, of all people! Trust me there, sir!"

Albus Dumbledore grinned back at him, not taking offence at all. He knew he'd won, quite unexpectedly, too, and was very relieved that he didn't have to order his Professor in the matter There had to be some little reward at least in it for the Potions Professor, and all he could do now was to try not to upset this precarious balance.

Suddenly, Snape's face shadowed over again.

"I can't wait to see that face contort in that look of contemptuous pity his father could do so well... That bay stare... After she was gone, he was sneering at me all the time, preening, and sporting pretty Lily and his blissful marriage..."

"That was the father, not the son, Severus. Harry's not James, not his father. Do try to keep that in mind – please!"

Snape did not like that at all but obviously, he needed not to be convinced of the truth of the statement, either. His ever-boiling anger and pain did blind him only occasionally, and he did try to correct that.

He'd do anything the Headmaster considered necessary in the end, but glared at Dumbledore nevertheless.

"I do not wish him to pity me or some such thing!"

Albus Dumbledore was amused at the defiant sound of that. Proud to the teeth, and uncompromising. Just like the teen he'd been, a quarter of a century ago…

"My dear boy – do you seriously believe that anyone would pity you? You have your very own rather abrasive and highly potent methods to get people off that idea almost instantaneously!"

Those were approximately the very same words Albus Dumbledore had said a long time ago to Severus Snape, in connection with a very different matter. Dumbledore withstood the angry black glare.

Snape, upon that, lowered his eyes, and left his office with a short: "Well then, goodnight, Headmaster."

He'd not said he hoped that Dumbledore would enjoy the aftermath of this triumph, but the Headmaster could infer the meaning easily from his attitude and tone of voice. He knew the man so well... And he did have his misgivings about what he considered necessary, but there was no other way to get things to work that he could conceive of.

Then, Albus Dumbledore sighed. Convincing the other party to the deal would not be very much easier, he was sure.


	2. Potter Caves in

**2. Potter Caves in **

They had been sitting in the Headmaster's office for an hour and a half now, talking about many things, but more often in silence.

Harry Potter had been ordered to see the Headmaster almost on a daily basis for a couple of weeks by now, on the pretext of being able to talk about his past fighting experiences, but in truth, and that much was obvious, rather to be worked by Dumbledore to resume Occlumency lessons with Snape. So far, he had refused to recognize the request, for a request it still was at the moment, and had evaded the subject whenever he could.

Albus Dumbledore had pressed on Harry each time that they'd met up here: trying to bait him with the offer to tell the tale of his Potions Professor's turning and, along with that, parts of the life stories of his parents and Sirius, if only small parts though, as he'd added. The condition to that offer was to be Harry's renewed and honest effort to learn Occlumency, and his agreement to pick up those lessons with Professor Snape. The boy had not seemed overly interested; his distrust of Snape was obvious even though he'd had to agree that the man had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Every now and then, the Headmaster tried to pick up the subject again, only to be met with either stubborn silence, or a refusal that, while being less impressively staged than the Potions master's, was not a bit less resolved and settled.

Harry often felt tired after those meetings, even though they mostly were highly informative in many respects and he found that he still enjoyed Albus Dumbledore's presence. He wondered how the Headmaster now found time to chat idly with a boy like him, but admitted to himself that he fully understood that the old man wanted to make good to him as well, even if that was rather an afterthought, and only a part of his aims.

Dumbledore found himself in the difficult position of having to sell something that the other side to the deal did not conceive of needing or wanting. He had, in his turn, been vague and short in his answers to questions about Sirius and Harry's parents – something the old wizard did not feel good about at all, but this was so very important...

Had the story on offer been about his parents, or Sirius, in the main part, young Potter would not have hesitated to promise to do menial tasks, or whatever else was demanded, the Headmaster was sure. He had not felt like lying to the boy, though. No more disappointments, no more hidden plans – he'd sworn that to himself.

Occasionally, Albus Dumbledore sighed.

It was only the last part of his demand though that raised Harry's hackles. While now, after the events at the Ministry, Harry was sure that he'd do good to learn these Arts, he was not at all of the opinion that it needed to be with Professor Snape, and he'd said so every time the conversation got to that point.

Wouldn't it be punishment enough if he had to listen to his most hated Professor's life story?

Why couldn't Dumbledore teach him if he could interview him each and every day?

The Headmaster had explained that, for each of their meetings, his room was secured by strong wards against any attempt of intrusion, be it by Lord Voldemort or other persons, but that those were but a temporal protection which took a lot of effort and strength. This included not looking into Harry Potter's eyes for any length of time, which made the conversation awkward and robbed the Headmaster of much of his efficiency. He'd worn Muggle sunglasses during the first few meetings. This had made Harry giggle and relax, but done nothing to impress the seriousness of the task on the boy. Quite the opposite, Harry had mumbled things about an old rock band whose members looked just like that… Also, the old wizard had disliked the discolouring of his vision, and given up on this course of action.

Any attempt to teach Harry might disturb the wards, they being magically related to the Art of Occlusion, and as lessons advanced, Harry's progress and, by that, the familiarity with the Headmaster's mind, growing in the process by necessity, would be Lord Voldemort's progress, too, until Harry was fully able to block him out.

What disturbed Harry most about it all was that, if he ever agreed to the Headmaster's propositions, he by inference might eventually be familiar with, or have an affinity to, Snape's mind...

Harry was offered the opportunity to leave his thoughts with Dumbledore in the Pensieve after each meeting. He never took the Headmaster up on that offer.

All of this meant, furthermore, that Harry must not be late. Being late would make him vulnerable.

So far, it seemed that the resistance Professor Snape had put up against Dumbledore's demand had equalled his own, which was a relief to Harry.

What was more, the whole thing seemed to have the advantage of being ignored by Snape most of the time during lessons. Not that that helped as much as one should think it would... He'd been paired with Neville Longbottom a lot lately, which was a punishment in itself, regardless of his liking and sympathies for the plump boy. If it wasn't Neville's clumsiness that did them in, it was the Slytherins' attentions. The boy seemed to attract their hexes, jinxes, and jokes like a magnet, the more so now that Harry was working with him and could be harmed by inference.

Harry spent large parts of each lesson deflecting nasty attempts to hex them, or to destroy their potions. He was proud of being rather effective in defending himself and the weaker boy without Snape noticing, or taking points off Gryffindor. Harry marked a slow but steady increase of the agressivity and meanness of the attacks over time. It was as if the perpetrators were practicing, and advancing – which they most likely were. He somehow suspected the Potions master to be behind that and, considering this, found Dumbledore's demands to trust Snape ridiculous.

Today, the Headmaster had welcomed him cheerfully, asked about Fred and George Weasley, and shaken his head about the antics Harry reported. Harry was owling them on an almost daily basis. He'd taken to try and convince them to return to school where they would be needed to keep Snape at bay, as he'd put it one time, and the twins were becoming exasperated by his attempts.

They chatted a bit about the jokes they were spared those days.

After offering tea, cookies, and lemon drops as usual, the old wizard casually leaned back.

"I've got good news for you: I've convinced Severus Snape to agree to tell you his story – if you choose to agree to the conditions mentioned."

Harry paled. "You mean to say I've got to take Occlumency with him, and he'll tell me... But I just CAN'T! He's insulting me all the time, and..."

Harry fell silent again, frozen by that terrible idea. He'd rather write lines for Umbridge again!

"No, no, my boy – the Professor flatly refused to have anything to do with the telling, but reluctantly agreed to let me do that, trusting me to do it the right way, with the help of his memories in the Pensieve; and if you manage to convince him that you'll respect his privacy in the future – as far as lessons allow, that is –, he might consent to teach you again."

Harry exhaled audibly, exasperated. Was Dumbledore kidding him? What if he refused? No, he'd not be spared in any case, this time…

Albus Dumbledore regarded him with something close to pity.

"Harry – you know I am really sorry to put you through all this, and no boy or man should be forced to sacrifice his life like that, but it can't be helped!

"Yet, I still can't teach you myself. As I told you I feared it would, it has turned out to be too dangerous by far – for both of us. Yet you direly need such self-protection as Occlumency offers! I won't have you unprotected when facing Lord Voldemort once more, and I can't do anything about it. You yourself must, in this case, overcome an aversion that is downright self-destructive! You will have to apologize to Professor Snape for watching his memories..."

Harry scowled.

"You do agree with me, Harry, that Fred and George Weasley are behaving stupid in not returning to school, now that there are no obstacles to finishing their education any more... You even wrote them as much, all by yourself, or so you told me. That was not at my bidding, or Molly Weasley's either, if we both agreed heartily, and to no avail yet, right?"

Harry could see what was coming, but nodded anyway.

"You will agree then, my boy, that your own actions concerning the resumption of your lessons with Professor Snape are no less irrational and even silly?"

"Well, yes..."

"You HAVE to take up Occlumency with Professor Snape again, if we are, ever again, to speak freely, or I, to look in your eyes. I, who should teach you, can't do that, for obvious reasons. You yourself came to tell me I shouldn't, after summer holidays.

"There's no-one within our reach who is anywhere near a match to your Potions Professor in these Arts, or has his kind of experience, the latter of which might turn out to be much more important than mastery of the craft alone. So, there's only him anyway, sooner or later, depending on your advance in the field.

"As for his story, it is important that you know such facts as there are. Nothing else can make you understand how Severus Snape became the man he is now and, more specifically, WHAT he is today.

"I am sorry, Harry, but you have proven to be too important in our fight by your... connection to Lord Voldemort to be spared this.

"You must try, at least, to make up with Professor Snape! I told him as much, see?

"Only then, after your honest attempt, shall I begin tell you his story, with his grudging consent. By acquainting you with his past, I shall try to force him and you both to work together in confidence, to establish a working relation at least, if nothing else – you must learn to trust and rely on each other! You will have to fight side by side eventually, quite regardless of what either of you, or I, might wish for.

"And Lord Voldemort must never gather any of this!"

Harry's assent came as a surprise to himself, but he did not see any use in arguing further. This had gone on for weeks. He was sure that the Headmaster was ready to force those things on him. Snape had apparently caved in, losing him his major defence, and whenever grown-ups decided upon things, there was only the question of when and how they'd be carried out. By his assent right now, he'd keep a small influence on that…

While Dumbledore was basically right, this still was some sort of blackmail. Harry was aware of it, but it could not be helped. Neither was such procedure anything new to him. Harry did not expect fairness anymore from the Headmaster. Also, he'd learned that knowledge came at a price; a high price, at times.

Albus Dumbledore had not been able to order either his Potions master or his student in this matter, so he'd found different ways to get his will. And he'd done it again.

Also, Harry simply had to know more about the events that had led up to things being what they were. He felt a desperate need to know more about his parents... his godfather... to place them within the world that he knew, and not somewhere isolated in the vacuum of his affections. The price had been too high, so far, but the space for negotiations suddenly had vanished. Well, maybe, there'd even be an explanation somewhere why and how things had become so pressing...

"Are we agreed, then? If we are, we can start right away on the preliminaries."

Harry nodded, unhappily, but decided.

"At first, permit me to state some facts about Professor Snape. After that, I believe it to be best, Harry, if you'd go ahead and ask all you feel you need to know. I might not be able to answer all of your questions, but I promise I'll do what I can.

"So, for your Potions master. While there might be a small measure of envy of some sort to his feelings, I know for sure that that is not what drives him where you are concerned. There's a strong aversion against your father that is, I believe, not entirely unfounded."

Harry blushed. Did Dumbledore know? How much did he know?

"Severus Snape would never accept to be made a hero because he survived a crushing event by sheer accident or luck, and still less so because of a deed that he neither planned nor even remembered – but on the other hand, he seems unable to gather that there's not always a choice or a way of evading unbidden acclaim.

"I told him over and again that having your parents killed and being famous in return was never your choice nor wish, but he still seems to prefer to think that you are a spoilt child and revel in the popularity anyway. Your father James very likely would have, at your age..."

Somehow, Harry could not be angry anymore about those things: neither the disrespectful reference to his father or being called a boy, nor the insulting assumption that he was preening himself with achievements that had cost other people's lives. It was just too silly, wasn't it?

He sighed, resignedly. No-one was perfect, not even Dumbledore, as he had had to find out painfully, and those people he loved might not be worthy of his love. Yet by such inference, neither were he or Snape. And, by inference too, people he did not love might at least deserve respect…

But then, love just could not be a matter of deserving it, like trust was. Even Harry himself had friends who'd professed care, and had proved it. Love and caring were things that just happened, or should happen in any case, like children loving their parents, or relatives, and parents loving their children back, or like he loved Sirius – and nobody, probably, loved Snape.

There was no pity in him on that thought, just some sort of dull pain that some things must exist.

He sighed.

"So that's what he thinks... That nothing of what I have done is owed, or the effect of, a strength of my own, but is all owed to my mother's love? And that I revel in the fame of my undeserved survival? As if it mattered – she's dead! That is what matters!"

The pain was palpable to him. He longed for his parents, for the comfort they might give. He would not cry! Harry was not sure whether to be angry or sad about all that, and just hung his head. He felt worn out, and limp like a rag doll. Just a few days ago, he would have shouted at Dumbledore, voicing his pain and anger, and very likely have cried at some point, but something had changed... Maybe the process of being questioned over and again by the Headmaster had worn his rage out, and even dulled the pain.

And at Snape, he'd still rage, if he dared mention anything of the sort.

Harry's thoughts wandered. There were other kinds of love, too, a glimpse of which he'd gotten during the times he'd been so nervous about Cho, and that had frightened him, but he might eventually find out about it...

Dumbledore said: "He liked Lily very much, you see?"

Now that did it! Harry's head flew up to stare at the Headmaster, his eyes an angry emerald green. Albus Dumbledore did not wait for him to speak or shout.

"Also, I am sure that Professor Snape by now has to admit, however grudgingly, that there is great power of your own in you, Harry, and that you are good at many wizarding Arts and Crafts. You have fought valiantly more than once, and the Professor has got to acknowledge that at some point. He might bite back his pride eventually – he will have to, that is; and that is part of the reason why I am doing this to the both of you."

Dumbledore did not say that Snape still, and quite relentlessly, was trying to convince him to be more careful about the boy who, in his words, might have the spirit or power of Voldemort in him – that no-one yet knew what, beyond minor schoolboy mischief and insecurities, would eventually be the real Harry Potter, or his power, or his abilities... After having felt the murderous tug of Harry's eyes on meeting the boy unwarded, the Headmaster could not deny the truth of this consideration.

Yet the mistake had not been in Albus's listening to the Potions master whose overly-careful approach seemed to be the only one adequate to the situation now that Lord Voldemort was back, but in his own handling of the matter, his ineptitude of telling Harry what he had to know, and in due time...

Sirius Black, it seemed, had had to die for the Headmaster to be able to broach the subject: another deadly mistake made, another error of judgement that Harry had had to pay up for...

In connection with the boy, Albus Dumbledore felt how all his superior knowledge, and his capability to handle people came to naught: he could but defile that purity. And if ever Riddle was able to take Harry over, that would be the end of him – of them all. He was defenceless there: Harry Potter was his weak spot, the boy he loved like the son or grandson he'd never have, and mercy on him if he ever got caught there.

Lord Voldemort must not know: just one more reason why he himself could not teach Harry Potter Occlumency.

The boy, however, was strong, and a brave and imaginative fighter as well. He'd just have to let him be, and trust him to make his own way...

Harry was more perceptive, too, than Dumbledore would have granted him for so far. As if picking the thoughts up from the Headmaster's mind, he said: "You wonder whether my powers might be owed, as you yourself had to admit, to Lord Voldemort's attack when I was a baby, to some extent beyond my ability to speak Parseltongue at least, so no-one quite knows what I really am or can do by myself, true? My abilities might belong to the Dark Lord entirely..."

Harry was very angry now, but coldly so. Merlin knew he'd skip all that and have himself obliviated if that would bring his parents back, and not because he was afraid to fight!

"Hm... well observed, Harry..."

Secretly, the Headmaster was taken aback by these words that showed cunning and strategic calculation and, possibly, a self-hate of an extent that no boy of his age should possess – be possessed by. Again, a similarity to young Tom Riddle... and to the Potions master.

In Harry, he felt that the young one hated such thinking, yet knew the considerations to be inescapably true, and a denial of plain facts to do no good at all.

It was eating Harry Potter out, and that must not happen.

"But no, no, no, don't do that, Harry! Try not to turn against yourself like that. None of this is your fault, or your own doing! Getting at yourself in such a manner will only assist the enemy!

"Both of your parents were extraordinarily strong and capable wizards, and nothing that anyone might say changes anything about it!

"Furthermore, Harry, I'd like to state that, however this may be, the aims you put these forces to, wherever they may originate, are very much your own – and you have not ever felt to be too weak to wield your powers, or not to be meant to, have you? Godrick Gryffindor's sword allowed itself to be wielded by you, and that is no weapon for the weak – which is but one example!"

Harry, biting back his constantly increasing anger, considered the question, and found it a surprise.

"No... No, I haven't. I've never even considered that to be possible... I think I am meant to... to do what I did… what I can do."

"You see, Harry? Hence, here you are. And yet you have to be aware of these things, of the doubts about them that may be in others, not only in yourself, and the dangers of it – of your not knowing what is yours and what may not be yours. Some of this power could be inflicted on you from someone outside, or turned around in your hands the moment you need it most or...

"This is knowledge that usually comes to the wizard and witch by experience, after they grown up, say, in the third or fourth decade of their lives, and is a process of learning that lasts a lifetime itself. You need to go through as much of it as you can now, and speedily, while still being a boy… This means hard work, Harry, and is not necessarily healthy – but it might be quintessential to your survival...

"You can't really blame Professor Snape to put his fingers, perceptively, in the wounds that are there. Consider: maybe his sense of duty and the imperative of silence weigh him down heavily, too. He'll never accept a weakness on our side that can be taken care of… We are at war now, Harry."

Harry had never until some time after the fight in the Department of mysteries looked upon himself as being a possible danger to the Order and its task. He'd been in severe doubts after that incident, and felt the need to be alone, to think. He did not want to put his friends in peril by neglect and misjudgement of situations… But he'd never looked at the whole thing really: this was not only about his friends, and he had to admit to himself that he would need advice in the future, in order to avoid mistakes like…

He stopped his train of thoughts at that point. He'd never admitted as much to himself, and so far, it did not even hurt… This was not about guilt, but about the best approach to future action. Things to be done were ahead, and the route was fairly clear.

The old wizard and the young one were silent for some time, companionably listening to the faint whirring sounds of the strange instruments in the Headmaster's office, and to Fawkes who was snoring on his perch. To Harry, everything around him suddenly felt very soothing and familiar, regardless of the heavy thoughts that occupied his mind. He knew that he was about to embark on a journey into the unknown, not only against his lifelong adversary, but into another man's mind, regardless of a strong feeling of anticipation.

There were many questions, and some of them urgent, but one was foremost in his mind still, no matter how many times he'd put it to the Headmaster one way or the other.

"How can I ever trust Sn... Professor Snape, sir? How can I ever be around him without starting to shout at him and hate him? Or, he to shout at me? I know he doesn't want to kill me, and he's even protected me, but he's so... mean!"

They had been discussing this many times, every time they met in fact, in some way or the other, but Harry still was not convinced. No matter that Snape had saved his life right away in his first year, and very likely in the Ministry of Magic, too – he could admit as much to himself sometimes, when anger and pain ran low – but Harry did not like the man, nor did he want to be around him.

He put the issue before the Headmaster again, asking for the proof the old wizard held to be listed.

Albus Dumbledore seemed faintly exasperated this time, but obliged Harry no less. The boy was as trying to his patience as was the Potions master, and as stubborn, but there was no true use ordering them in this matter, even if it had been in his power. He would do that too, but to what avail? He braced himself.

"But, Harry, don't you understand, after all?

"You have to grasp one thing: if I was sure, if I could ever be totally sure that Professor Snape was on our side, Tom Riddle and everyone else would knowhe is. The Dark Lord is not stupid! The really dangerous game that I described and Severus Snape plays, to our benefit I believe, would otherwise be mere play-acting and thus be up real soon! Voldemort is not sure either and, hence, I can never be! We both believe to profit from services rendered; and while, I am sure, the Dark Lord hates this idea as much as I do, neither of us has any choice but to rely on the wily Potions master, each to our own ends. As long as he's useful... Sometimes, that thought even makes me smile...

"Severus Snape gets played, surely, but so do we, by him, the Dark Lord and myself – and then, who can say of himself that he played two of the most powerful wizards the world has seen in generations? That is his attitude, Harry, and not one of deploring one's being a helpless pawn, or a messenger between adversaries.

"You have to understand that this is a game with the cards mostly on the table, or at least the players pretending that they are...

"It takes a lot of strength to do such things, and I happen to know one young man who could learn a lot from that attitude; who I'd like to see profiting from such experience and power, even if no-one around would really wish on him the obligation to do so...

"You are caught in this net, Harry, not in the least because of your own actions.

"Your Potions Professor fills me with awe occasionally, by his brazenness and nerve. His ability to survive, his presence of mind, the boldness of the game he plays... I am sure of him yet cannot ever be... I have to withhold from him what Lord Voldemort must not know, yet will never figure out how much he gleans anyway by merely being around me or the Order, and how much of that he passes on... There's never such a thing as 100 safety in life anyway... Things change, too.

"And both the Dark Lord and I need Professor Snape's considerable abilities as a Potions master.

"Trust, like belief, probably means to rely fully on things one can never know…

"No matter what proof I have, I have no choice but to trust him and rely on him! I am in his hands as much as he is in mine – we are all very much in his hands which, I am sure, he fully realizes, and does appreciate!"

"Enjoy, I bet", Harry muttered, which went unchallenged.

"Snape has to report to Voldemort again now that the Dark Lord has returned, and what he reports has got to make sense, and be of use to the Dark Lord as well! Hence, he HAS to spy on me, and must not merely be told what to hand on, in order for those things to hold water.

"While the major facts appear to be out in the open, this is much like a guessing-game – a bit of catch-me-if-you-can, a pinch of hide-and-seek, some theatrical and mystery role-playing thrown in – only it is no game, but, literally, dead serious: one false step of his will cost us more than just a couple of lives – more than just his own."

Harry was slightly gaping at the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore was sure to have his undivided attention for once. How was it that this boy, whenever things became really prickly and tough, managed to devote his full attention to matters at hand, and forget his own pain and anger?

"However, there is a variety of excellent reasons for me to trust Professor Snape as far as trust can go, and I will eventually spell them all out for you – if you agree to my proposition. After all, that is what this is about... But for now, let suffice my assessment of the situation and the man.

"See, Harry, I count myself lucky to have a partner and adversary in this maze who has a grasp of strategic concepts and knows how to hold his own, someone who builds in a sensible way, and does not take down at random. When you're as old as I am now one day, you will understand how very rare and precious such a mind as the Potions master's is, and how much in this kind of game of intelligence depends on finding someone who is capable of playing it like that. He has, and usually right away, a most precise assessment of any given situation, by thinking around corners that most other men don't even see before they walk into them. Neither will many put their own concerns aside in the necessary way – and in the case of Professor Snape, I have to show you, and you alone, my boy, why that is.

"Very much depends on your aptitude, though I am sure of that. But can you handle it? Are you willing to participate in all this consciously, or would you rather prefer being a pawn for as long as that can last? We can't have you jumping in from the wings crying wolf over and again, or hexing, or even protecting, people at random. There are choices to be made and tracks to be laid. Things must be considered in advance and plans be followed through, as long as they are promising. You, Harry, have to understand how to work against the Dark Lord efficiently, instead of making that an adventure every time. I am sorry that there's no childhood really for you, Harry…"

An impatient wave of hand stopped the old wizard.

"You've made me a pawn yourself, sir, if I may..."

"Yes, my boy, you may, and I am sorry for that – it has turned out to be a great mistake not to let you know earlier. I am fully aware of that, and will not have it made an issue!

"But, mind you," – here, Albus Dumbledore lifted a slender index – "letting you know will not have changed a thing…"

He eyed Harry warily, but the boy didn't seem to object but to consider the issue seriously.

"You will, and I am sure of that, still find the full truth, the facts, hard to take in... Any grown man would...

"This may all sound harsh, Harry, but as much as I would like to, I cannot eliminate you from the map and hide you in some quiet, sunny children's home to enjoy some years in peace and grow up undisturbed, or confine your actions to the school and the curriculum – you have given ample proof of that. I do not wish to belittle the tremendous victories you have achieved along the way, but it is time now for orchestrated and more careful action.

"The Order acts upon the need to know – while you are too young to be a member by Order regulations, that cannot be helped: you, being a major player, need to know a lot.

"It was no easy decision for me to be frank with you in that way; after all, you are a boy" – Harry made to protest, but a raised slender hand forbade any interruption – "just a boy, and still a boy, of merely sixteen years, and will lose your innocence, and probably your life by this... What is more, the adversary has, on occasions, a kind of control over you…

"I shall never cease to feel guilty about drawing you into all this, notwithstanding it being obvious that my major fault so far has been the lack of communication with you... We shall take care of that at least presently."

This sounded like a threat after the words he'd just listened to, and the Headmaster's voice sounded uncommonly hard, but Harry was all rapt attention. He was being accepted by those people as a player in his own right!

"I'll try and show you other aspects still, though.

"As for my trusting Severus Snape – see, Harry – for one, there are his memories of his times as a Death Eater in the Pensieve, as a token of this trust, which is the most explicit reason there can be, as you will come to see – a very strong token this is, as I believe you will understand eventually!"

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. He was beginning to feel tired – this had been a most intense communication so far.

"Then, there were several tests with Veritaserum, all of which turned out to my full satisfaction. The man to resist its effects still has to be found, be he a Potions master or not. Even Lord Voldemort would have to speak his true mind under its influence.

"There are, though, more reasons for me to trust him – while those already given are, to me, fully sufficient – more of them will be revealed to you in due time in course of the story that I am to tell if you choose to agree to taking up lessons with the Professor again, and prove it.

"One of the other reasons, I had to promise Professor Snape not to reveal to anyone as it concerns his family alone, but you might trust that it holds water as well. Also, this reason is not relevant to your understanding of his person, or the turn of events, and entirely marginal to present goings-on. My knowledge of it is just another..." – Dumbledore sighed – "well, hold that I have over him, just in case. It is not up to me to tell his story beyond what he permits – which goes quite far already. You will come to realise that as well.

"He need not have told me of any of those things, nor confess that he was a Death Eater... Those are reasons for trust of themselves...

"Professor Snape is now a bitter and hard man, as you well know. But you see, even he was in love once. I am sure... she would never have wanted him to be bitter, but he is as fearless today, or even more so if that is possible at all, as in his younger years when he defied the Marauders single-handedly. He does not care for his life at all anymore – you will know soon enough why that is.

"Severus Snape wants revenge, still, on her torturers and murderers... If it was a Death Eater who did what Lord Voldemort ordered, Snape should have to be friendly with him, even grateful – if not for the mess... to keep cover.

"The Professor went almost mad over that..."

Harry was puzzled. What was this about? He was sure, though, that Dumbledore told him what he did to make him comply with his demands out of curiosity. He'd consented already, as far as that was up to him, and resigned himself to eventually find out who that 'she' had been. He was not curious at all right now.

"That is, as you will learn, still another aspect of the game that involves Severus Snape. So, again, in short, I trust him. I wish you'd trust me enough to leave it at that..."

Dumbledore looked at Harry in an almost pleading manner, and Harry felt very close to saying that of course he did trust, and wanted to spare the Headmaster what obviously was an ordeal to him, but at the same time, his anger whispered that Albus Dumbledore had not spared him either, and that he just HAD TO KNOW in order to not be visited by gnawing doubts later.

Before he could say anything to that end, Dumbledore continued:

"I repeat: I do very much desire you to take up Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape again. I can't order you to, and pleading or demands seem to be to no avail, hence I will have to convince you no matter how long that may take.

"You might be able to imagine, Harry, that the Professor cares about as much as you do about getting closer, but I feel the none of us will have a choice in such petty matters eventually, so I am trying to build bridges before it is too late to meet the necessary preparations. You and he will have to fight side by side Yet presently, it is obvious that either of you would turn against the other, even in the presence of Lord Voldemort.

"And I will not have that."

The old wizard stopped and, for the fraction of a second, stared at the boy before him.

"Please, Harry, do try to understand – let me repeat: I MUST not know for sure whether I can trust Professor Snape! I have to treat him as if I did nevertheless, and I must not forget these facts! In this way, no lies have to be told... I trust him as far as trust goes, in a situation like this. You do understand the danger and the advantages in that, do you, now?"

"Yes... I think..." Harry said slowly, knowing well that he would need time indeed to appreciate that all he'd just heard, and that he'd been given a grand view of events he was not sure he'd really enjoy looking closer at. That was quite something to digest before bed!

"Very good, very good – that kind of strategic understanding will be direly needed... – Do you think, Harry, that Miss Granger would comprehend that, too?"

"Er.. Sure, she put... Of course, Professor – you've got to tell her all of this! Now!"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry's sudden agitated eagerness. A mere boy again, for a moment... Otherwise, he'd taken it all rather well, today.

"She put what...?"

Harry smiled back. He had been about to mention Hermione catching Rita Skeeter in a bottle, but said instead: "The interview in the Quibbler – Hermione arranged it, surely you know that? Whatever good it did us in the end... She is very strategic! I will send her to see you right away! And later, tell her what I may tell of your – of Professor Snape's story..."

"But not tonight, please, Harry, will you! It is rather late, do go to bed – sleep, if you can, as I hope. We both need it. I guess you've got homework to do, too – you should run right now; and I've got things to take care of as well.

"Tell her to drop by one of the next days in the afternoon, or after dinner. I can't fix any date better than that, as I might have to be away on short notice, but generally I should be around. It will be a pleasure. You don't need to mention what it all is about if you don't feel up to it yet."

"But that..."

Harry stopped himself, suddenly realising that the Headmaster was probably right in assuming that he was nowhere near ready to tell even just bits of what he'd come to learn so far.

"I'd rather if you did not tell, actually, Harry, and please do consider my request seriously! It's very important that you do not run into traps that you yourself set up by pride, or carelessness, or anger, or misjudgement!"

"Yes, sir..."

"As you seem to have considered your attitude, I suggest that you come here Thursday night after dinner and I'll tell you the first part of Severus Snape's story. Consider it a kind of advance, or a compensation for hardship expected. Agreed?"

Harry had a feeling that he'd not get around the whole thing anyway, and might as well start now. Dumbledore had given him a sense of the urgency of the matter, too.

And odd kind of bribery, with stories which were not even about his parents... And it did work, too. Harry was desperate to know more of the past, of any past, and the Headmaster had promised that it would relate to events at hand…

He looked at the old wizard for a moment, then nodded.

"Got to run now, sir... and thank you!"

Have a good night, Harry!

The Headmaster looked after the boy-who-lived who'd behaved more like a young man tonight than he could remember, and shook his head. Weeks of working those two, then they would both cave in within 24 hours, and young Potter had even said thank you…

Harry considered that Dumbledore apparently was running some risk in inviting him into his office privately every other day already, and it was obvious that he would not let up trying to convince Harry even when time could be spent more sensibly by either being told what Albus Dumbledore wanted him to know, or doing his homework... Not to mention the Headmaster's time. The way it was, the hours he spent with the Headmaster came down to a kind of detention, what with them being pointless and all. Occasionally they had been instructive and even fun, though. But tonight, he felt he'd been given an insight into – well, politics, into the course of action Dumbledore pursued. Harry wondered. Reconsidering, much what had been said had been the same as before, but he felt, tonight, like he had been taken into confidence.

No-one came across him on his way to Gryffindor Tower, which was just as well, because he did not feel like explaining to Filch, and having to argue with Snape might have been a bad start for their new… he shuddered… lessons… Oh yes, he had agreed to take up Occlumency again, git that he was…

While he got ready for bed, he reckoned that he'd probably just caved in to get the matter over with, and was wondering if Snape looked at it in the same way, being 'worked on' to the same end by the Headmaster, until he'd relented. With that thought, Harry fell asleep.

There were no dreams of the troubling kind, and had not been in quite a while – was that because of his meetings with Dumbledore, under the wards?


	3. Potter Tries

**3. Potter Tries**

Next morning, Harry awoke in a good mood, joking around with his friends on their way to the washroom – until he remembered what he had agreed to last night. Or almost agreed to… He'd finally decided to give the Headmaster's proposal a try, to get Dumbledore off his back. Meeting with the old wizard had not been bad at all. Dumbledore had answered many of his questions, and told him a lot about wizarding politics and the life of the wizarding community in general. He had, though, flatly refused to talk to Harry about his parents unless he agreed to aproach Snape, and had even admitted that this was a kind of blackmail.

All in all, Harry realised that he did not have much of a choice. Dumbledore had to get him to agree, of course. Ordering him, or Snape, to take up their lessons again would be useless.

Learning Occlumency would be for the better, there was no doubt about that in Harry anymore, but this was not the point. He'd been telling the Headmaster as much, over and over again: if it just hadn't to be Snape… What was worse still was that he'd have to try now and make good for his curiosity last year – Harry would have to apologize for his intrusion on Snape's memories int the Pensieve.

If he tried right away, soon, just gave it a shot, he could say he'd attempted it.

Harry was very sure anyway that this would never work out. He did not really feel sorry – if at all, it was for himself, because what he had seen of his father had given him quite a jolt – and he was sure that Snape would notice as much. The Professor would never go for a lukewarm apology!

Harry decided not to let his friends know yet. The decisions weighed on him heavily, but Harry knew that circumvention of the issue would bother him just as much. He was, in a sense, waiting for the right moment, and it came on Thursday afternoon. The day had run smooth and easy for Harry, and he felt up to the challenge.

Harry made his way down to the dungeons some time before Quidditch practice, reckoning slyly that flying would help him to soothe his mind and raise his mood if things really went wrong. He would see the Headmaster in the evening, to get a first instalment of the elusive story, too, and to be able to report success, or progress at least, would be good news and help his stand with the old wizard.

The greasy Potions master had no lessons at that time and was known to usually be in the classroom and grade tests, or to follow about a similar occupation.

Harry knocked, and was invited to enter.

Without speaking, he moved toward the raised platform where Snape sat behind his desk, and said: "Sir... you see, I'd like... a word, please... The Headmaster thinks..."

Oh, no good!

Snape waited, but Harry found himself unable to proceed; not that he'd put a lot of thought in advance into what he would say now. He could see that that was a mistake...

"Incongruent as ever, Potter. Have you ever managed a full sentence at all?"

Harry blushed, feeling the familiar anger rise at his Professor's contemptuous demeanour, just like it always did when he had to talk to him, but it was distant.

"See – I think I have to tell you that I am sorry..."

Snape interrupted him.

"Stop it, Mr. Potter. Since when are you complying with any teacher's request, or care to do as you are ordered? Not in my lessons in any case, and hardly elsewhere, or so I hear. Don't bother to act on the Headmaster's orders just now. Leave it be.

"I understand that a spoiled boy wonder like you does not truly appreciate the necessities and ways of apologizing, while at the same time you'd do well to feel sorry indeed for more than one incident. What good can an apology do if it is ordered, and brought forward merely on that account? Or, at least, if such an attitude is obvious to the recipient of the... honour?

"I am sure the Headmaster means well, but complying with his wishes just because he presses you to does no-one any good."

This was uttered in a weary manner, mostly lacking the usual bile, but the impatience behind the Professor's word was making itself felt nonetheless.

Harry shuffled his feet, feeling faintly angry about the Professor's attitude, and awkward, but tried not to rise to the assortment of baits Snape had lain out for him.

He realized again that Snape did want to do what the Headmaster intended about as much as he himself did, and tried to speak, but merely chewed around on his meaning.

Snape became irritated and said, "So, is there anything you MEAN to tell me, or would you care to leave now so that I may take a well-deserved break from you and your little moronic friends? I am in no mood for riddles!"

Harry felt still too subdued by the humiliation of the attempt itself and its obvious failure to become really enraged, but decided he could not do it, and turned to leave.

When he tried to open the classroom door, it wouldn't budge.

He turned around and saw Snape smirking at him.

"Let me go!" Harry said in a loud voice, getting nervous.

What did Snape want if he would not listen to his attempts to make good? He'd not even let him finish one sentence!

"Tsk, tsk, Potter! Now is that the attitude a teacher can expect of his student?"

Harry blushed once more at the sound of glee in Snape's voice, turned toward the Professor, and then felt his anger rise fully, like a wave, finding that a relief to the state of fearful paralysis he'd been in before.

He'd known this would never work!

But now, he could tell Dumbledore he'd tried, after all. If he only got away soon, without bursting with anger! If he couldn't, he'd just have another thing that both the Headmaster and Snape would consider to be in demand of an apology to make good for...

Snape waited for something, but Harry still did not speak.

"You've been so highly effective in deflecting all sorts of mischief coming your way and even protecting another lately that I find hard to imagine your having no clue at all what to do now... There are several possibilities..."

The realisation that Snape had been very much aware of the goings-on in Potions jolted Harry, but he could not rise to that bait either right now.

"Let me go now if you won't listen to..."

"No, Potter." Snape interrupted him. "I can at least try and teach you rudimentary manners here and now, if nothing else, due to your lack of grasp in general. One of the possibilities mentioned is simply decent behaviour. No wand-waving needed, merely a bit of deference..."

Harry breathed in deeply and raised his head.

"Please, may I go now, sir?"

"That is slightly better, boy, if not by the sound, then by the choice of words. Just remember what I said about honesty required of attempts. You are far too easily read..."

Once outside the murky room, he had to digest the fact that Snape knew about the attacks on him and Neville, and probably others, during his lessons. Harry had not had enough leisure to notice whether others were inflicted in the same manner, but did not remember complaints, either. On the other hand, most of it was done very slyly, so people might just blame themselves... Easy to read, he was? Now he would see to that, if it was by the exercises the same man had given him!

He was almost sure by Snape's admission that the git used his Potions lessons to teach Dark Arts since he was not permitted to do so officially; also, that Snape taught the sinister Arts themselves rather than the defence against them, too.

Harry remembered how the character of the attacks had changed every time, and never been the same, so that any preparation had been in vain... He also had to admit to himself that this was rather efficient and realistic a manner to apply not-quite-White Arts to learn to handle them... Defence against them, if only by inference, and "Constant Vigilance" too, of course...

But why had Snape not taken any points from him if he'd noticed they'd defended themselves? Had his words been a kind of compliment?

Harry snorted.

Yet, somewhere deep within himself, he envied the Slytherins their teachings, and this consideration strengthened his resolve to profit from his Professor's knowledge if he could at all.

Harry had to admit to himself, too, that he indeed would have done better to go prepared to a man like that, and that his failure was partly – mostly! – his own fault.

He amazed himself by thinking he might try again another day, not too soon though, to show Snape that he could dissemble quite well enough to make him accept his words. He'd apologise again, if necessary, and he'd ask Dumbledore about all of this.

After Quidditch practice, the shadow the conversation (if it could be called that) had thrown on his mood had vanished, and when he entered the common room, he'd forgotten all about the affair and was only reminded of it by the presence of his teacher at dinner. Harry did not feel awkward in the least about the attempt or the failure of his apology. It was almost like it never had happened.

There was something else that he was supposed to do, he was sure, but he could not remember what it was.

Harry meant to tell the Headmaster that his attempt at making good with the Potions Professor had been an utter failure just as it had to be, and would ever be, but he forgot about that, too.


	4. Idane

**4. Idane**

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, the Pensieve to the side, and greeted Harry merrily.

"Come in, come in my boy!

"I've heard about your attempt at making good with your Potions Professor. While I understand that you have failed utterly – the Professor was angry, blaming me for forcing students to do my bidding, now he would, of all people! – and have not yet reached an understanding about further Occlumency lessons. This attempt will, however, suffice as a reason for beginning to tell you his story, like I promised. I reckon that you two will come to an agreement eventually. Time is running short..."

This brought events back to Harry's mind, but he thought is useless to say that this would never work. He'd said that a dozen times or more already.

"You've earned the right to see the beginning of things, at least. None of it is secret or untold. Even Severus could not object to my telling you in the end, nor would he be in a position to disagree with my telling. It will also give you an impression of what lies ahead of you... But do have some tea!"

"I- I'd rather have pumpkin juice, sir..."

"Of course, of course, my boy!"

At a flick of the Headmaster's wand, a plate with a variety of sweets and a huge glass of perfectly chilled juice appeared.

Dumbledore waited until Harry had sipped a bit of the juice and finished off a couple of gingerbread, and then began his story.

"Well, my boy, this is the story of how Severus Snape came to join our fold and eventually the Order. It will explain fully, I believe, why I trust that capable young man quite unconditionally. It will show you his true strength, why and how he became to be what he is, and will also tell you some bits about your parents, and others you know, or have heard about. It should solve some –er, riddles... for good, I hope."

"Why is no-one telling me about my parents straight-out," Harry exclaimed angrily. "Didn't they have a life of their own!"

"Yes they did," Albus Dumbledore said, regarding the young man patiently, "such as was completely uneventful, filled with joy, and loving each other, and everyday affairs, and menial tasks, and those minor mishaps, little squabbles, and nuisances that not even lovers are spared... utterly peaceful and uneventful, regardless of your father's work, until the very day... they died."

Harry hung his head.

"I'd have loved to have had such a life... What was his work, anyway?"

"I know, my boy, you would; in hindsight, everyone would. But do not expect me to repeat to you the daily routine of a happily married couple expecting their first child, or of the year they had you and you had them: I do not know much about that, and frankly, you yourself would be bored footless within ten minutes. The changing of diapers is only of marginal interest to anyone, beyond the actual moment, even if they are one's own..."

Dumbledore had completely ignored the second part of what Harry had asked, and his words did not go too well with him either.

"No, don't jump at me, Harry; it's nice to live it, but extremely dreary to report or listen to.

"Consider: James gets up in the morning, brushes his teeth, wakes Lily with a kiss, they get up, prepare breakfast together, he strokes her rounding stomach, and kisses her again before he leaves.

"She stays at home, but not only because of her pregnancy with you: she's an author of children's books..."

That was what he should have had, what was his by right! So peaceful! The whirl of emotions Harry felt, triggered by just a few sentences said in a quiet voice, the craving, and the anger, loneliness, and self-pity, among so many other things, made him feel faint.

Yet at the same time, he knew that he could not take any more of it – the loss was blinding. Harry felt tears run over his cheeks. AND it all was not real, it was made up and commonplace, a cheap fairy tale for a very lonely boy – unless he'd be able to see it in a Pensieve... It would probably even then not go beyond the reality of one of those Muggle television features Aunt Petunia loved to watch, and shed tears over. He wiped his face. The story was no comfort, but not boring either... yet.

He shook his head a couple of times to get rid of the emotions and then, rubbing his eyes, looked again at the old wizard.

"Ok..."

"Well, just let me tell you once more that, for all I know, they were quietly, peacefully, contentedly happy together, and quite in love, until... well, until the end. Which would be more than most people have, see?"

Harry said nothing for a moment, then, between clenched teeth, ejected: "I do want to take that bastard down."

"I know that, and while that attitude might constitute a problem in itself, the necessity of it being done is why you HAVE to work with Severus Snape which, in turn, is the reason for your being here."

"But..."

"No buts, Harry. I forced your Potions Professor to agree to let me tell you and show you his story in order to open you more for... well, other people's losses and developments, and I will not have you back out, either. You will remain here tonight until I feel that you've come to know enough for a day, and you will return at appointed times to do more listening and watching."

"Well, yes, sir."

The boy gave in, knowing the futility of objecting to the Headmaster's decisions.

"Here you go, then. I'll tell you Professor Snape's Story. But at first, we have the story of a most unusual woman: Idane's Story.

"See, my boy, as I said, Professor Snape did love once, hard to believe as that may be for you, Harry.

"Love came like for him a tidal wave or a hurricane, out of the blue and unavoidable.

"It was like the Moonflower that no mortal man is meant to see, as beautiful, as fragrant and fulfilling any desire – and as transitory and poisonous in the end...

"For once, Severus Snape was not the one to question a blessing, which is hard to believe as well, knowing the man today; knowing that he is of an ancient pureblood family of repute and, at the time of events, was a member of the Death Eaters, of Lord Voldemort's inner circle even. It is quite incredible that she, the woman he loved unconditionally and would lose eventually, was a Muggle - but for one of her Granddads, who has been, or more likely, still is today, a giant, from Iceland."

Harry gasped. A giant! He thought of Hagrid, and his troll-like little brother, hidden in the Forbidden Forest. Giants intermarrying with Muggles or wizards seemed not to be altogether rare...

"This giant came from a small but ancient family. Their name is impronounceable to human mouths, and in short and roughly translates as "of the green Mountain". They used to live in the Isles most of the time, but this family has not been heard of since they were harassed by wizards about the allegiance some of their kind were said to have had with Grindelwald; or seen to visit the Isles at all after Muggle hunters and some members of the Ministry of Magic chased the last giants away after Lord Voldemort's downfall. This was done against my advice, unwisely and for rather political reasons – they were accused of generally allying with the Dark Lord, of which there was no proof – nor is there proof of that now, by the way. I do believe that rumour to have been intended as a means of trying to press them into service – not a wise move of Riddle's, but it still might work...

"All of that was just the last step in a history of alienation between our races, growing apart over hundreds of years – giants, Muggles and wizards alike merely growing smaller in spirit, and more protective of what little we've left to call our own...

"Even in Iceland, where elves and dwarfs still have a home, giants are hardly more than a saga nowadays. There is no proof to their existence or whereabouts today, or I'd have sent Hagrid that way – but proof of her extraction, her bones were: she was tall and large-framed, if nowhere near as big as Hagrid or Madame Maxine. The short form, pronounceable form for human mouths of her first name, Idane, also was proof of her extraction to any perceptive witch or wizard. Any Muggle could have known, too, but they wouldn't know a living myth if they bit them."

At that, Harry grinned.

"Not that Idane, even in the years before she met Snape, had often seen it fit to prove any of this to anyone, Muggle or wizard, by the gifts that came with the blood – giants were feared and dreaded by that time in the wizarding world for good reasons. They did not desert their homes without a good fight, and were a childhood's bedtime nightmare of evil tales of long standing with the Muggles.

"Yet neither was she secretive about her origin. She did know about her extraction, which is not common with descendants of giants raised in the Muggle world. Idane was brought up for the most part by her grandmother who told her about her beloved husband. They called themselves Groenberg, to remain inconspicuous, and Idane called herself Groenbergsdottir later on as an artist, as a reference to Iceland. Her grandmother knew all the myths and the truths about that race. Had Idane ever tried to, she would have found what was left of her relatives. Her powers surely had not the extent of those of a real giant of the past, but were great nonetheless...

"Finding them would be a most urgent mission for her, today... And it is not the only reason that I do myself miss her, my boy. Yes, I knew her...

"Giant's powers are not magical in the sense those of wizards but, besides their incredible physical strength, are mostly illusionary, or illusionist, and what Muggles call 'psychological', or even 'magical', in their ignorance. These powers don't work on the physical reality as ours do, yet are far beyond what any Muggle can do. The peaceful kind of giants has never used this power for other reasons than to protect their own – the High Elves we now only remember from history lessons or sagas must have possessed similar, if greater, powers. You might have read some ancient stories about the delusions they managed to build... They were wise and playful, rather than mean and destructive, as tales will have it nowadays – than their degenerate offspring are, mostly...

"Giants are, in a sense, a link between flesh and stone – human life and crystal – they don't feel much pain, nor freeze nor burn, unless someone puts a real effort into torturing them... That is why the haters of non-Human races call them stone-bloods.

"Their women, mainly, had a gift that gave perfection to the illusions they created: the Insight. They'd read the mind of man or Muggle, and build the glamour they would see along the lines of what they feared, or wished, or imagined giants to be like...

"As I said, Idane had inherited some of the illusionary magic and a lot of the Insight, and she used it to make a career in the Muggle art world. As her success grew and she became well-known, she went on to arrange events for Muggles and wizards alike, her beautiful and frail magic weaving veils of dream over the borders between these worlds.

"The most accurate description of her Art, I think, is as of a web of light and imagination, encompassing all the senses. I wish I could show you images of that, but this is the only illusion known to resist recording: on films or photographs, be they magical or Muggle. Her Art looks strangely discoloured and lifeless, and in the Pensieve, be that my memory, or Severus's, or anybody else's, nothing of it is shown at all, even if, by definition, the pictures submitted are memories. We tried that. One only sees the movements, and the few material things she used in the creation of the illusion – fabrics, lights. All that memorably remains of the memory are the fireworks she used a lot. It was unique, you see?

"This magic was so intangible and sweet that no-one could really be sure what it was though I believe there have been rumours of different kinds about her origin at large with British wizardry.

"Everyone loved these events. They were like memories of better days and full of hopes for a future for all the races, together... Well, most everyone did.

"This was how Voldemort became aware of her Art, and sent Severus Snapein to investigate further who had nothing much to do in terms of missions after having fallen from grace with the Dark Lord for a reason that I'll come back to later.

"It seems that Lord Voldemort overcame his first impulse to destroy that beauty when Severus Snape reported the inherent usefulness of the shows. The veil between the worlds was thinned. Of that, the Ministry of Magic did not approve while at the same time they were incapable of proving the use of magic at all, be that improper, unapproved, or otherwise. So the Ministry of Magic always had guards at her performances, which meant less of them elsewhere, and the whole thing might be able to provide a cover to strike out from under for the Death Eaters.

"Severus had not then realised that he was falling in love.

"In the Muggle world where Idane was brought up, she also chose to live, regardless of her ability to see wizard's places (giants always can, and she'd pass for an overgrown witch from the north, being much smaller than Madame Maxine, as I mentioned), and her enjoyment of strolling Diagon Alley occasionally, in her leisure time. She was an artist – even if they are Muggles, they always are closest to the wizarding world these days, and do provide cover for wizards in the Muggle world by being unconventional and often strangely dressed – for Muggles, that is.

"Idane became famous while being still very young for a giant offspring, for her work with fire and light, sound and scent. She started out by designing the lighting and effects for concerts and other kinds of entertainment Muggles have. Later on, she had special events of her own invention that grew steadily bigger and in number. By then, she preferred to work with nature, creating her Art outdoors. Muggles call that open-air, I believe?"

Harry nodded, not entirely sure, but he remembered having heard that term before in a similar context, some rock concert, maybe, and likely from Dudley. Neither was he sure what the old wizard was getting at, but it souonded nice.

"By the time she was of age by human standards, she had her own very successful shows, and outdoor events, and happenings that were the rage with Muggles and wizards alike. She knew how to attract both races by using aspects of the respective Arts of either worlds – actually, she attracted all genders of both worlds, see?

"It was, she was, really special – without ever resorting to her peculiar magic alone, or giving her 'tricks', as Muggles would call them, away, or trespassing wizard or Muggle laws, either – which, as I said, did not prevent the Ministry of Magic from distrusting her.

"The best of her work created allusions between the worlds that made watching it entrancing for each- and everyone. To the Muggles, it was a dream and a fairy tale, and to the wizards, blissful memories and hopes. Moments of utter beauty to draw strength from for everyone... She had a very giving nature."

The old wizard stroked his beard, lost in memories and musings for a moment. Apparently, Dumbledore had liked these shows a lot. Harry was amazed at the sadness in his face, considering what a nice story he was telling right now, and an anticipation of less joyful tales settled in, making him twitch. Dumbledore was talking about that woman in the past tense, and Harry had never heard her mentioned anywhere...

Albus Dumbledore shrugged himself back to the present. What was gone, was gone. He stirred the Pensieve, gazing into the mists for a moment, seemingly thoughtless. Not for the first time, Harry was taken aback by a frailty in the old man that he'd never noticed a mere six months ago. Only since after the fight in the Ministry... Harry felt guilt settle upon him every time he thought of that event – not just because of his godfather's death.

The impression vanished as the Headmaster continued.

"In fact, I was one of the first admirers of her Art among wizards...

"This is awkward to tell for me, Harry... Not only Professor Snape has misgivings about this...

"I will try not to sound fluffy or threadbare... I am not used to talk about these events. They are much more a part of his life than of my own of course, nor does anyone really want to recall them, to be honest. This is why you very likely have never heard about her.

"His permission to tell you was very reluctant. I guess I'll find my voice eventually."

The old wizard cleared his throat.

"So, quarter-giant, Muggle-born artist Idane came to meet Severus Snape at one early event of hers near a seaside resort, commissioned by the Muggle Tourist Board. It was summer, and Severus was a little over 20 then. He'd just finished the final part of his apprenticeship and was setting out to become a Master of his Art. From what he told me later, he was Lord Voldemort's foremost Potions master already at the time, with occasional duties of an experimental kind that he does not wish to be reminded of.

"Severus Snape of course was not a Professor at the time. Voldemort had sent him in, with some other Death Eaters, to find out whether this woman and the kind of things she staged in both worlds might be a threat to his cause, or useful, or negligible. She was beginning to grow famous with wizardkind.

"The previous year, Voldemort had sent Severus Snape to Hogwarts, to me, to apply for the post of Potions Professor, and I accepted him readily. I knew of his temper of course, but the resident Potions master had become really forgetful over the last few years, and his hands were not sure anymore either. There was no-one about far and wide who was competent to do that job, not to mention a Master, and I was happy to take Severus on. I did not know or suspect that he was a Death Eater even for a moment.

"Severus Snape, however, was not accepted by the students, some of whom, now in their final year, had still known him while he was a student himself. He botched it completely and left at the end of the year, which I greatly regretted. It was easy to see though that there was no use in a recommenment of his teaching after the summer holidays. This failure he was punished for vilely by his master, in addition to being removed from inner circle service for some time.

"When Lord Voldemort told him to report on that stone blood woman, Severus Snape took it to be his chance to make good and come into grace again.

"The Death Eaters did not disturb that particular show or stage a raid then nor did they later on, but witch folk in particular was unsettled that evening. Muggle newspapers later blamed the tension of that night on an approaching thunderstorm. So, Severus Snape got close to the artist, not expecting to be noticed, but Idane did, and they talked. Idane had perceived the Death Eater presence at shows before, been greatly disturbed by it, and perceived him to belong to that intrusion somehow, but apparently did not consider him Dark of himself, or did not care.

"Eventually, Idane managed to screen herself from such influences in part, which was of great importance to her success later on. You might imagine, Harry, how, due to the imaginary kind of her Art, any disturbance of such a massive sort would endanger the progress of a show... By her own attempts, the success in keeping unwanted influences out was erratic. It depended on her mood and other influences, which made for a very unpredictable quality of her early performances. This was where Occlumency, as the Art and Science of systematically shielding oneself, came in.

"To my shame, I must admit that I never thought of it even while we talked about those difficulties. I was able to confirm that the disturbance was real, and not something she'd imagined, but considered it rather the sum total of the spirit of the time. Severus Snape, knowing otherwise, taught her, with his Dark master's permission at first, I believe… But I'll come back to that later.

"So, young Severus Snape was fascinated with Idane's work. From what I did gather, they mostly talked theory at first – about Arts and Crafts, Muggle and wizard, and the possible use of chemistry or potions of some kind in Idane's performances. Your Professor-to-be had lots of ideas in that field, and they were received with great interest. It seems that those conversations gave her some of the ideas that she was able to realise later on, with Severus's assistance, and which made her really famous. Apparently, the two detected a relation between his and her Arts, and were able to put that to work. They must have come to a close understanding right away. The Potions master himself was not merely amazed that what he'd thought to be a dumb Muggle, or even a mudblood, could quite thoroughly understand Potions as an Art, but was taken in by her.

"He fell for her then once and for all, which took them both, I believe, some time to realise.

"You know him – if Professor Snape's ever struck a dislike, there is hardly a way of changing his mind. His likes and preferences are like that, too, he sticks to them unconditionally and loyally. He even bestows those feelings on later generations…"

The old Headmaster twinkled. Harry snorted.

"Those judgements are, amazing in such a rational man, based entirely on instinct, and he rarely fails..."

At that, Harry snorted again.

"And Voldemort? And ME? How can you expect me to take lessons with him again if you know that, sir?"

"There are other things involved there, Harry... You'll hear about them. It is necessary, and Professor Snape understands that necessity as such very well, if he would love to deny it here. He also has a strong sense of duty. I hope you can understand that eventually, too. It is not normally a happy subject, and not something young ones should have to consider to such an extent… But let me continue my story.

"His fascination with the woman Idane and her Art was immediate, and became love eventually, strong enough to eventually override some of his loyalties, later on. You may take that as an indication of the extent of his passion… As I said, he did not know at first what had happened to him.

"Severus Snape reported to Lord Voldemort that she could be considered rather useful and, with his master's consent, started to support her. This was done to prepare a fence or cover for future Death Eater activities, as such a thing might turn out to be useful, and took place exclusively in the service of the Dark Lord, of course – at first. Professor Snape started out by finding locations for her shows on his own, offering them to her, and she often accepted. They both meant to have more of them within the wizard world, if for different reasons.

"He then proposed the addition of semi-magical gimmicks that he would come up with as a spice for the wizards, and got her permission. Your Professor is not only a Master of Potions, but most of this was in his area of work anyway.

"The Minister was easily convinced of the good of that, regardless of their initial mistrust. Part of that was owed to more liberal strains in some officials, who were in favour of opening the wizarding world more to the Muggles, or liked Idane's Art themselves, and part of it was achieved by bribing or other offers from the hands of Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy. I am sure she never knew about that last bit of it.

"Soon, Idane G. and Severus Snape were working together on the shows. She seemed to enjoy having him around."

Another snort from young Potter let Dumbledore raise an eyebrow, but he did not interrupt his storytelling.

"Severus sort of managed her for the wizard world, putting in family money. Your Professor proved to have quite a hand in that management thing – it gained him a multitude of what he put down. The whole of that was of course very much a Muggle concept... It does not sound like him, does it?"

Dumbledore smiled at the boy in front of him who shook his head.

"But still more amazing was something else: can you imagine Severus Snape being PLAYFUL? Laughing at jokes, even cracking one himself, occasionally? Being unabashedly, honestly happy?"

The old Headmaster hid a grin at the mixture of disbelief and annoyance in Harry's face. The bewilderment of the boy helped him to cope with his own rising sadness. It would do Harry good to get over some of the prejudices that incapacitated him so. He could never hide his emotions... At that thought, Dumbledore had no difficulty growing serious again: Harry would have to learn just that, and soon, or be in great danger.

He went on. "Severus Snape was happy in those days, I assure you – in that short year with her. Not at all like the morose and irascible student I remembered, and not like the bitter, abrasive Professor you know."

"Only too well," murmured Harry defiantly. Dumbledore ignored it.

"I know because I attended many of these events, being one of her sponsors of the first hour. I did put money into the shows myself, too, so I met my former student, and teacher-to-be, again. Again, at that time I'd never have believed him to be a Death Eater. His whole personality was so opposite to what I knew the average Death Eater to be like that such a thing seemed impossible. He also seemed to have changed greatly since his first attempt at teaching. There are great acting capacities in him, you see.

"It was in those days that Idane became really famous for her work and its beauty, and not least because of Severus Snape's support.

"She was special, Harry, bringing happiness to Muggles and wizards alike – an antidote and a blessing in those dark days.

"Forgive an old man reminiscing like that..."

He paused.

"Voldemort might have continued to support Severus Snape's course of action, but didn't like any of what he heard about it, and the depth of his servant's involvement in it that was reported to him even less. I think that in the beginning, Severus did himself believe in what he told his master: that an event of this sort8, on the day of days, could be the ultimate starting point and hiding place for any large Death Eater operation – neither the Ministry of Magic nor the Muggles would know what hit them and where the attack had come from – and they'd eventually blame it on the artist whom he, Snape, looked upon with contempt. I am not sure if he knew, at that point, of her ancestry, but he surely did not tell Riddle at any time. How Lord Voldemort found out, for at some point he did know, I have no idea. It probably was mere coincidence.

"Severus argued that, for the time being, the shows, with their change of location, should be considered most convenient to gather knowledge. That was no fence, as such performances were attended by people from all walks of life – officials, Ministers Muggle and wizard alike, artists, scientists, even kings and presidents, congregated there. Intelligence of any kind could easily be obtained, and contacts made. But very soon, it was obvious to everyone watching the two that they were falling for each other – long before they knew themselves, actually.

"I think Riddle dispatched a group of his followers to spy on several events, disliking what he suspected – none of which went quite right because of the distractions created by the presence of the Death Eaters, even though Idane knew quite well by then how to shelter herself. I did not attend her shows at the time, being too busy with more pressing and less beautiful matters.

"Concentration and the ability to open herself up to her audience was essential to Idane's Art, and after the first few times, she'd always been able to tell when that undesirable tension-creating presence was there. I could never convince her that this atmosphere was merely a sign of the times that she should counter with her shows, even though she agreed that, of course such an atmosphere must be fought. I was mistaken, too.

"However, even with the fortification she came by by Severus, those intruders could easily spoil a show. Lord Voldemort had to rely on his Potions master's assistance for the information he needed. He even had to consent to have a mudblood instructed in defence against the Dark Arts! Since Sverus Snape had obviously been right in his analysis so far, the Dark Lord let him continue. That Idane's Art was so easily disturbed was just a point in Snape's favour – Lord Voldemort could have it undone whenever he wanted.

"It took young Severus Snape a while to realise what had happened to him – after a couple of months, he almost had a duel over her with another wizard, not a Death Eater, who tried to approach her. Such an act was unheard of in connection with Severus Snape and, once he and Idane had found each other, would not have happened altogether. I believe this duel to be the fateful event that raised Lord Voldemort's suspicion that not all was to his taste with his trusted follower, and that alerted Severus to what was happening in his life...

"Idane herself stopped the fight by throwing both men out of the show. But Severus Snape, she let come back to her... It was by then obvious to those who are perceptive of such things that these two were made for each other. After that incident, they found each other. Later on, they never reacted to baiting and never bothered to fight any insult; it was as if they had become unreachable to any such thing, invulnerable…

"If there have ever been soul-mates, Harry, beyond wishful thinking, these two were just that. Bad words, taunts, and insults slid off them like rain from charmed canvas, and just vanished. Not that there were many, but there were rumours by then, both about her extraction, and his being a Death Eater. Utterly disregarding such talk, Severus Snape was blissfully and very tangibly happy at that time, which was no play-acting, which was part of the reason why I was blind to the rumours about him then. Their tone of voice, between them, was often acerbic, but the underlying deep admiration, respect, and love were never concealed… They seemed to have a language of their own between them, in which words did not mean what they do between strangers – lovers often have.

"Imagine that of your bitter, resentful Potions Professor, today!"

"Yes, he's ever so bitter- and never forgets any insult... even if there was none!"

"Right, my boy, but soon you will understand better why that is so. And, maybe, that it sometimes only seems to be the case...

"So, Severus Soniverirus of ancient pureblood stock, hater supreme of giants, magical creatures, and Muggles, ever contemptuous of "mud-bloods" and halflings in school, came to be the partner of a stone-blood, and soon, Idane's lover."

"Eventually, I gather, he told her what he was, what that meant, and why he'd come to her at first. She seems to not have been upset in the least, but to have suspected something like that. I think she learned a lot about wizarding policies and the Death Eaters by his confession, and was taken aback, but trusted his love, deeply. She knew months before I did where Severus Snape's loyalties lay, and she never told me.

"She was well-loved in both worlds, had access to almost anywhere she wanted to go, and came to hear and see a lot – which she truthfully reported to Severus Snape. She knew what he did, and did not mind at all. Possessed of the Insight, she did not believe in secrecy and secrets at all, considering them the root of all troubles. I do believe she had a point there…

"What she did mind, though, were the aims of Severus's master.

"Before becoming thus involved, she'd not really given much thought to seemingly minor matters, like power-hungry wizard politicians; there were enough of that sort among the Muggles. They did damage, but their petty greeds and deeds tended to balance themselves out... Somehow, like many Muggle-born wizards too, she found it hard to grasp that a relatively small community like that of witches and wizards could be riddled with rivalries of that sort, and endangered by one madman...

"It must have to do with the illusion that the kind of power wizards hold would sort out such things by itself... However, in the Muggle world, she'd never been shy of taking a stand with her work, quite beyond how and where she presented it, but she had bothered never before about the affairs of wizardry.

"Murder and torture were, to her, crimes far worse than lies – which, occasionally, could be justified in the name of a greater good...

"She had always been living her own life, and claimed to know how to keep herself and her friends out of a mess."

Dumbledore paused

"Hm. Not long after she'd come to know, she made me understand in her unique way that she was aware of the Death Eaters, would not mind to let them have information that I should think fit, and tell me what she heard in turn – as long as she would not have to lie Severus Snape to the face, or put him in more danger than she already did by his work with her. Such danger consisted, at that time, mainly in him being thought to be a blood traitor of sorts by Lord Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters. I didn't know that though. She herself was by then well aware of that point of view. Mind you – I myself believed that her main concern was for her beloved, and not because he was partial in the matter itself.

"Indeed I think she never lied to Severus. He did not then and does not now know everything she did, though! Neither do I of his dealings with Voldemort and on our behalf, by the way, be that then or now. Wouldn't want to know, too. I told you why."

Harry nodded a bit impatiently, wanting to hear more.

"She did not feel that she was double-dealing her lover by this. He'd done that same thing to her before, ever since they met, and she loved him no less. Having become aware of that, she felt she might use her own shows in a manner more in line with her own preferences, and at her own discretion. She deplored the impossibility of art escaping politics, but acted upon the fact once she had accepted it.

"You may find that a rather manipulative attitude, hard to be reconciled with the love in both of them. In a way it is, but she never acted without love. She always saw the whole of the picture, and believed in doing the right thing. It was right to love Severus, and it was right to work against Lord Voldemort. There was no reason to drop either.

"Much later, Severus Snape told me that he was never ashamed to use her shows the way he did, because while they were her Art, and imbued with her essence, they were not her. The visitors of course were not the Art either, even if they constituted a part of the shows since she drew her images in part from their minds: from the dreams, and thoughts, and desires of those present.

"Your Professor was enthusiastic about the scope of things in her work. Yet, Idane was so much more than that! By then, he was totally in love with her, and aware of it. He felt free to interact with her work in any manner he chose. There's a lot of a Potions master's pragmatic approach in that. Her approach was very much that of a giant, pragmatic no less. Severus later said that he'd be disappointed in her if she hadn't done something similar, too.

"I don't think they ever talked about that."

Albus Dumbledore could see that this was becoming too much for Harry, that he probably was presupposing too much even had the young man been raised a wizard. On the other hand, Harry had been warned. He decided not to elaborate further.

"Her offer of course also meant that she trusted me utterly. She was a wonderful woman, very much awake and radiant – but none of that has saved her. Idane was not spared a most cruel and violent death. Never ever once did she consider herself a possible target of a Death Eater attack!"

The old wizard sighed.

"You see, Harry, she was willing to pay a price for the best of all in the form of losing comfort in order to stop what she perceived to be wrong. That is so much more than most people, Muggle or wizard, will do! She had an amazing sense of measure and responsibility, knowing that what was needed was the small share from everyone that they could easily and light-heartedly give: if they were unafraid. She knew that she did not have to go all the way, because a few people giving all they had, while many are not giving a damn, could never be enough, never make enough of a difference, a world whole, or a decent life for all...

"But what little she decided to give effortlessly, turned out to be too much. She did not immediately realise that any political involvement must lead to her exclusion from the wizarding world as soon as the Ministry of Magic would become aware of it. The Ministry was even then too cowardly weak to take action, and, as I said, partly bribed, or pressured.

"Crouch always found it easier to clamp down on those that were rather powerless, even if they appear to be Dark, for effect, much like Fudge does today. … It is not difficult to be merciless against those who have no way of demanding mercy, or even justice... Crouch preferred to ignore goings-on in his house, in the lower ranks, as long as his power was not questioned, but increased. That, of course, was an easy thing to do for Lord Voldemort's cunning and Malfoy's money – the appearance would suffice.

"So, deplorably enough, it was the pressure exerted by people like Lucius Malfoy on the behalf of Severus Snape and his game for Voldemort, that held the Ministry of Magic back at first. You could even say that they paved her way to success, for it is dubitable if she, all by herself, would have managed to obtain the support necessary to stage her Art where and when she wanted to, in all the beautiful locations Severus came up with.

"While a ban in itself, if unspoken, but backed by the Ministry, would not stop any single wizard or witch from attending her shows in the Muggle world, the more "important" people would be forced to stay away, and the shows, hence, lose their value to Lord Voldemort...

"Voldemort eventually decided to withdraw his support, and it became fairly obvious that her shows had become a platform of intrigue and exchange of information that everybody had profited from but the Ministry of Magic. So, she was banned form performing in the wizarding world after less than a year of great success, and quite out-of-the-blue after all the acclaim.

"This meant, too, that she and Severus could not be together inconspicuously anymore. He defended his continuation of management, but Lord Voldemort pressed on him to stop it. Things then had to come to a head. Your Professor was seriously contemplating changing sides, and the lovers were calculating the chances of an escape to the Muggle world. Would Lord Voldemort bother? Would he dare get at them there?

"Had I but known…" The Headmaster sighed. "Had I but known what was to come from that, I'd never have agreed to her offer of information, and would have warned her, but I did not know her intended course of action then... I only watched them from a distance, and did not notice things coming to a head there. It was merely a very secondary stage to the affairs that I was concerned with.

"And I don't think I'd have been able to realise at the time how much Lord Voldemort rejected her Art, because, or probably even although, I loved it so much myself...

"While her death was not connected with our feeding red herrings to the Death Eaters, I could not do anything to help her, and Severus Snape, in those days, would not for all the world have thought to apply to me, his old teacher whom he had disliked (or, at least, believed he had) for being a Muggle-lover and considered his enemy throughout his school days. We'd been civil when meeting around Idane's shows, but that was it. He'd borne me around as Idane's supporter and accepted my investments, being polite because of Idane's liking of my person, and from a desire to not raise suspicions above anything else, and because I was a possible source of information. That was about it.

"Had they but asked me, had I known in time..."

Albus Dumbledore fell silent, his head down.

Then he looked up again, at Harry. Were the old eyes watering a little?

"So, what did happen?" Harry did not feel very much concerned about such reminiscences, touching as they might be.

"Well... this is not easy – not a story a child should be told... Not tonight, in any case..."

"I am no child anymore!"

"Yes, yes, right, Harry; and you have seen much – too much already, I feel! – and stood up to a lot, more than most of us – but this is nasty, really, really nasty, one of the most painful of memories... You would not be listening to me telling old stories had we not decided that you'll have to know about this – and you will understand why soon enough.

"I do have objections, misgivings about this, though... Sometimes I do think that Severus is right, and that there is a trace of your father's early arrogance in you... His power, and more, too... Why would you want to listen to the terrible details?

"Are you never afraid you might encounter something that will break you?"

Harry just stared back and, after a moment, slowly shook his head.

"If I can live now, then I can stand this, too, and look at it."

Dumbledore regarded him closely, sighed, and gave a short nod: "Yes, that is true enough. I'd hoped for an answer like that... You've never had a real childhood, boy..."

Harry shook his head.

"And it's too late now, don't you think? That's partly your doing, too, is it not? Do grace my state with honesty, sir."

It was some fight not to use words like guilt and fault, but he managed – they would not do anyway, the milk had been spilt long ago…

At the harsh and rather Snape-ish expression, Albus Dumbledore almost smiled.

"Right then, so be it."

But instead of continuing the narrative, the old wizard dropped his head and mused, at his hands, it seemed, while aimlessly stirring the silver mists in the Pensieve:

"What a question for me to put, anyway - indeed, I do get old. I wasn't myself afraid of the truth in all my life... Well, until lately, that would be. Neither was James... And you had to suffer from my getting old... Do let me try and make good, please, Harry. And it's always been my intention to let my students have things straight...

"I did believe that, sir, for a couple of years," Harry muttered.

The Headmaster's manner did not give away whether he'd heard; he rambled on.

"Just to make sure that there's no relishing in other people's misery, or the fear and excitement of not having to live through something oneself... Not you, though, you have a life of your own. May this be for the best. Sorry to still be groping around for words – you know that is not my usual way..."

The old wizard pulled himself upright.

"This is difficult and painful to tell. Listen closely, then, Harry. This is, in consequence, as bad as the killing of your parents, as bad as what happened to Neville's parents, even if that is hard to imagine. You might eventually gather why Professor Severus Snape is, today, what he is – how he came to be that bitter and apparently unjust man - and I believe, too, that you will understand why I do trust him – have to trust him when I can – to the fullest extent and quite unconditionally, in a way. And, of course, it will merely confirm what we both know already about the Death Eaters."

Harry's eyes went wide. Hadn't the Potions Professor merely gotten what he deserved for joining forces with Voldemort?

"But I'll show her, Idane, to you first, at the height of their love and success, so you get the picture of what was," said Dumbledore. He put a silvery strain of memory into the Pensieve and motioned Harry to come over to him.

"You're still sure you want to go on? It will be painful..."

Harry just nodded.

"They are leaving a reception the Muggle Prince gave in honour of the great party they did for his 30TH birthday – which was one of the rare events besides her own that, unbeknownst to each other, Witches and Muggles partied together. It was a costume party."

"He knows? The Prince knows?" asked Harry, very surprised

"Of course, and of old! Every Muggle king and queen but one or two have always known about the wizarding world, although there was never one of them endowed with the Gift. But Muggle kings were pretty farsighted anyway, had to be in the old times, and still are, even in those days that they do not bear any real power anymore – must be in the blood, handed down from times when prescience was needed – a rare gift that, as you know. It is rare even in the wizarding world. and sometimes does come with other visionary qualities... And they would have to know, wouldn't they? They never betrayed the knowledge, either.

"Now look. This is quite a sight! Have you ever seen Severus laugh? Really laugh – with bliss, not spite, or anger? Or smile, from his heart? No, right? I don't think, too, that he ever has, since."

Harry bent his head over the Pensieve and saw a huge palace of pale grey stone at a close distance, surrounded by a beautiful park in the sunset. When his nose touched the whirling surface, he fell into the memory as he had before, with the now-familiar pull and jolt. He was within the image – and landed on an incredibly well-cropped lawn that was of an unnaturally bright green, like a carpet.

Then he saw them. In the midst of a cheerful crowd, a couple stepped down the wide stairs of that grey castle, very much the focus of everyone's attention, almost like a bride and groom.

Dumbledore, at his side, read his thoughts, as usual: "Everyone expected them to marry soon enough, their bliss and enjoyment of each other were so obvious - and I think they would have, too, as... but that's for later. Now look."

The woman was tall and apperared to be attractive, but she was mostly hidden from his view. The couple turned toward them from the end of the stairs, chatting and waving merrily – the crowd soon dispelled, and small groups stood everywhere, chatting and laughing.

While they were slowly approaching, Harry had time to observe them closely, and, as fewer of the other guests got in his view, found that he only managed to recognise Severus Snape if he willed himself to. He knew it had to be his Potions Professor, but this man… The Snape of Dumbledore's memory was younger than the one he knew of course, but that was not it. First of all, his hair was much longer, and he wore a ponytail - like Bob Weasley! Harry had to blink. He couldn't believe it! Snape with a ponytail! He just _had _to tell Ron - and Fred and George!

As they drew closer, Snape in front, Harry watched him approach: a tall, slender man in billowing dark green ceremonial robes that, by their colour, enhanced the radiance of his eyes which were of a dark greyish green, like moss agate, that he had never seen on Snape – nor would have thought possible as an eye colour, either. The pupils were still indiscernible, though. That man had the Professor's familiar and strong jaw-line and beaky nose, and was wearing his hair almost as long as Lucius Malfoy had when Harry last had seen him. It was really well cut and kept, of a shiny black like a raven's wing, and not at all greasy... While Harry looked on, the pale man took out the band that held his hair back, and shook it loose. It looked gorgeous. Harry thought that by doing so, the man did not really look anything more like Professor Snape, even from close-by. The person seemed completely unfamiliar - neither was that upright figure the awkward unhappy boy of the memory he had seen in the Pensieve when Harry's father had tortured him, nor was this the unjust, hate-ridden, and sourly teacher he knew only too well.

He thought fleetingly that maybe, since that other memory had been Snape's, he'd rather seen the man's image of himself, which was unfavourable... But then, why had he witnessed the events from a position apart like he had, last year? He would think about that later... Of course that might mean, too, that Dumbledore had a different, more favourable view of his Professor's looks than Harry, or any other student, was likely to have…

The memory rolled on. There was more here, still: this strange Snape smiled at others when being spoken to and looking around, and smiled even more when he turned to look at the person who came up a bit behind him, still mostly hidden from view by some big wizard walking in front of her. Snape's was a warm, wide smile, the like of which Harry had never seen on him – or on many other people, for that matter. There was even a moment when he laughed out loud – not at all nasty and sneering, but merry, and it did sound nice, too! This laughter and obviously happy attitude and face changed the man, his expression and his whole personality, almost beyond recognition.

Harry thought that this man was really rather good-looking, and probably had an attractive personality as well. He could not have imagined that before. What kind of teacher, of person would he have been, able to smile like this, in a happier life?

Considering, had Snape not even back then been rather pale, he would have looked much like a Red Indian with that aquiline nose and straight and proud bearing. This could have been a younger brother of the Potions Professor he knew, but not even a twin. Fred and George were far more like each other than this Snape was to the Professor Harry knew.

The Snape of the Pensieve extended a hand to someone next to Harry – Dumbledore, of course, smiling –, and with the movement, the woman – woman? – came into full view. She put a hand lightly on Snape's arm, waving at the Headmaster, and was obviously greatly enjoying his presence.

Harry gaped at the image. This was what Harry would have called an apparition or thought to be a giant Veela, much larger though and not of whitish blonde hair at all like those he had seen with the Bulgarian Quidditch team, but as entrancing – a woman that was easily as tall as Snape, rather big-boned indeed, with hair of a golden-brownish tint and not by any ordinary standards beautiful, but – she shone! In her was a light that radiated all around, visible probably even to Muggle eyes. She glowed with a bliss that was contagious. Nothing of the dazing mindlessness that the Veela seemed to induce in men was radiating from her, but quite the opposite: a heightened awareness of the beauty of the world, in everything, of the lust for life, for the love of the things that be; wild like laughter, yet calm and gentle, a spring breeze which made one's breath go deeper and more regularly. Watching her was like a sunny Sunday afternoon spent with one's favourite people and pastime, was as if the sun broke through heavy clouds on a dark day, sparkling off summer rain drops glittering on foliage. It was like the scent of roses and honeysuckle, it... This woman was happiness in the flesh.

Harry laughed, suddenly, leaving the pictures and the Pensievewith a jolt, and found Dumbledore smiling back at him from his chair.

"Idane does that to everyone – almost everyone – even now, from the inside of a mere memory about 20 years old... You'd gaze and laugh when she passed, you'd smile when you'd see a photo, or merely think of her. You'd just love living when she was around! She was a vibrantly living talisman, like an antidote to the poison of the Death Eaters or any other evil and disease; a Patronus in the flesh, if one could imagine such a thing, stopping evil dead in its tracks... It is no wonder that Lord Voldemort wanted her destroyed as soon as she had outlived her use for him.

"I don't think any Dementor would have dared come close to her, they would have burst of overfeeding with happiness."

Harry giggled at that idea. Even the thought of the Dementors had lost its terror momentarily, in the face of these pictures.

"In the end, Voldemort's minions destroyed Idane so that now, while seeing her picture would still bless those who look at it, her memory would be tainted for those few who know what happened – mingled forever with the knowledge of her death, of the way she died – terrible, cruel, and heroic... That would be what everyone would think of, seeing her image – if her death had become known, that is, which was part of Lord Voldemort's intention. We were able to prevent that. Later on, the Ministry of Magic had no interest whatsoever to be reminded of her existence. Severus Snape only wanted to forget, and to most onlookers, her presence and her Art had been like a dream anyway, so she slipped into oblivion.

"It was Severus Snape's presence of mind and tremendous ability for sacrifice that prevented Lord Voldemort's plans from completion. Snape took care that Idane's body was never found, by that drawing Voldemort's anger upon himself, but with very plausible arguments for his case. And the Dark Lord did listen. It cost him dearly, but Snape passed that terrible test and, at the same time, took the sting out of this attack...

"Yet, she is gone... A light less to the world..."

Harry thought he had never yet heard such passion and sadness in Dumbledore's voice.

The old wizard's next sentence, though, sounded quite his old self again.

"By the way, my dear boy, she's on one of the rarer cards in the Chocolate Frogs – here, look. And she was really, really as beautiful in that odd unusual way! Keep it, if you will – pictures of her bear a blessing of their own."

The woman on this card was not waving merrily, or grinning, or making entertaining movements, but merely smiled quietly at him, and in that smile was something that captured the heart. When she left the picture, he turned the card over. All it said was: Idane Groenbergsdottir, Artist.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Professor!"

So he could show Ron, if he hadn't got that card in his collection. Likely he had, Harry seemed to remember him saying that he was missing only one.

He did not care for collecting the things, even if they were amusing and interesting. But this one, he would keep for himself, in any case.

Dumbledore had been watching him with a distracted half-smile.

"She would have been the prize and talisman worthy of an Emperor – could have had everyone. Everyone – James, too – but she chose Severus Snape. If a choice that was."

"My father!" Harry gasped. Somehow, even seeing a young James and the other Marauders come to life again in Snape's memory had not given him the idea that his father could ever have wanted another woman than his mother.

Had Sirius ever loved? That thought was gone as fast as it came, and for the better; any thought of Sirius was too much for Harry, these days.

"Your father, yes. And he was married happily enough. Or women, like Lily or dear Minerva, for that matter... And your godfather. Or me..." Dumbledore dreamily looked up in the air for a moment.

"And... you?" Harry was utterly dumbfounded. Now that he'd heard the words, he realised that it was quite impossible for him to imagine Dumbledore, say, sitting at a breakfast table, reading the Daily Prophet, with that radiant being at his side – or any other woman, for that matter. Come to think, he had never ever considered it. Of course, for all he knew, Dumbledore could well be married and have a family, as some of the other teachers did. It just seemed so out of the picture! And with Snape, it was, too – still.

And that woman had chosen Snape of all people, over Albus Dumbledore, even if he was old, or Sirius, or his father! Harry found any of that hard to believe, regardless of the evidence he had just witnessed. Professor Snape a lover? A beloved and almost-married man? And that gorgeous creature his love? No way!

"Yes... I was much older than her, of course, if not in years, but I can pride myself that she really did enjoy my presence."

Dumbledore made a sound much like a giggle.

"Dear Severus was even jealous of me at one point! Very flattering, considering my age, and her very obvious and definite decision, and attachment to him... Well, counting mere years, I would have been quite an appropriate match for her, what with giants and their offspring growing and developing so much slower than humans, even wizards... Your Professor was not fazed by such details, at least not around her... He had, however, noticed our meetings – but never ever thought that we were plotting against Voldemort. All in all, quite flattering indeed!"

The old wizard smiled.

"And... women?"

The Headmaster appeared to ignore that question.

"She'd never ever let any fights happen. It was one of her gifts to keep rivalries of that sort at bay. For all I know she was not into women... They liked her and trusted her in all things, as did men. She was... see, she was with people much like Hagrid is with beasts..."

Harry had blushed at a part of what the Headmaster had said, but the last bit made him giggle again. How nice it would have been to know such a person!

After a pause that the old Headmaster did not seem to want to break to continue his story, Harry said, feeling awkward:

"Er... Professor... may I ask you something personal?"

"Please do, Harry!"

"Are you married at all, Professor Dumbledore?"

The old wizard blinked, seemingly returning from a bright spot in some remote past, and smiled at the boy before him.

"No. No, son, never was, never will. But her, I would've. Why?"

"Er.. I cannot really imagine you... living with a family, see? Sitting at a breakfast table in a kitchen, reading, say, the Daily Prophet…"

Dumbledore's smile bore a faint hint of sadness.

"No, Harry – neither can I. Quite aside of that paper. And I am not all that sorry about it, either. This might be hard to understand, as you long for your parents so much?"

"No... you have had to do many dangerous things... and maybe a family you loved would have made you vulnerable."

Dumbledore was a little surprised at these words. What influences had those relatives of Lily's had on the boy? He'd been close to agreeing with Minerva that his decision, 16 years ago, had not been lucky, to say the least…

"Indeed, Harry, that is cleverly perceived. Though maybe that's not all there is to it. And the concept of vulnerability was definitely not a consideration when I was young, a long time ago. It is not as if the threat of torture to anyone you do not utterly despise, to almost any living being, wouldn't do in the end; but in this way, with no family you love to be blackmailed with, you can keep... perspective more easily, and keep your head cool. Any desperation will be less personal. You do understand that, don't you?"

The old wizard cocked his head a little, looking at Harry earnestly.

Harry thought about that, then nodded. He wondered if he'd ever find someone to stay with him, himself… or if he would accept that, if he did.

"Your father was a great fighter against Lord Voldemort, but I doubt he ever got to that idea... in his life. It will sound cruel, but I think your mother might've, in her last moments... But had your parents ever considered their personal luck to be less important than their fighting aims, you would not be here... Had they done any such thing, that in itself could even be considered a victory for Voldemort... What, in the end, is all the fighting about if not the chance of that little bit of personal happiness, of love, that we all long for? Idane taught me much in that area… Yet, happiness has to be deserved, earned, and sometimes fought for... I do wish more people would give this aspect of it more room in their thought, preferably in advance... All it needs is to stop to think for a moment, and consider what could be. It doesn't have to be a war or anything that massive at all... Just that small moment of responsibility, of consideration for others, nothing more! People do die all the time, if by accident... that doesn't change by pushing the thought aside. Also, consider this: is it not better to have had that moment of bliss, of peace, of happiness, instead of forfeiting it to worry? Your Potions Professor, whatever he may be today, has at least has his. Let not ever the possibility of loss keep you from gaining happiness..."

The Headmaster sighed. After a moment, he spoke again.

"My dear boy, I do believe this has been quite a good start for the telling of this story.

"Now that we've come to an agreement, Harry, I shall see you twice a week at least, likely on irregular days. You can then tell me of your progress with Occlumency, and about Fred and George, and I shall tell you about Idane.

"For now, return to meet your friends and do your homework if you haven't already finished it... Do try and remember what you may tell them and what you may not tell them! Have a good night, Harry!"

"Good night – and thank you, sir!"

Leaving, Harry waved his rare Chocolate Frog card. Only upon descending the revolving staircase, he realised that the decisive and terrible events Dumbledore had hinted at had not yet been told as far as he could see, and the anticipation he felt about all this grew. For the time being, he felt elated and rewarded by what he'd been permitted to witness, and there was no thought of Snape or Occlumency in his mind, but only of the radiance he'd perceived. Even the knowledge that he would never see this woman or her Art in person did not dampen this happiness.

After seeing the Headmaster on an almost daily basis for weeks, Harry also felt a little bit cheated by the new arrangements. Only now, he realised how very much he had enjoyed the quiet hours in the office, with Dumbledore sometimes going about his business, Fawkes's soothing presence, and all those instruments making tiny sounds... Even if they had been devoted mainly to the purpose of convincing him to do something that he did not really care to do. Had it been due to the extensive charms the Headmaster had mentioned? He'd not been that relaxed all summer holiday... The whole place soothed him and gave him some peace, but on the other hand, Dumbledore really had been leaning in on him, and he resisted, and that bit of it had been strenuous. Now that this pressure was gone, things felt different of course.

It made sense for him to not see Harry every day... That he'd done so in order to convince him to take up lessons with Snape again, merely indicated the urgency of the matter... This had to be expected.

Harry decided not to push it, but to clarify some other questions instead, about his father and mother, for instance, while he had the chance.

And also, he'd go Snape right away the next day, and would try to ask him about Occlumency... and he'd apologise, or try to again, he thought, even if Snape didn't really like it, and Harry himself still did not feel at heart the need to.

He'd do it again if he had to… The man was such a git! But Harry knew that was not a very good reason to snoop around in his office.

Back in Gryffindor Tower, his friends greeted him with curiosity, but he pretended that nothing much had been said, and he did have some homework left to do. They did not push him, having been immersed in it themselves when he returned and, reassured by his attitude, left it at that.

Later that night, over a game of wizard chess, Harry showed Ron his card.

"Don't you think she seems nice?"

Ron owned that card of course and was not really interested, even though he had to admit that the woman seemed to be likeable enough. For once, he did not question Harry's interest in something, and he didn't know anything about her either.

Harry thought he would tell Ron and Hermione one day what Dumbledore had shown him tonight, but they were not asking now for details on what he was doing in the Headmaster's office so frequently, for which he was extremely grateful.

His friends had been worried at the beginning, but when Harry had said that Dumbledore was discussing his parents with him like the old Headmaster had suggested, they had left it at that, both reckoning that that particular subject was a private matter, much too painful to discuss, and that Harry would tell them about it when he felt ready to.

He could not possibly, that was for sure, reveal much of what he would come to know about the woman Idane's fate to anyone...


	5. Potions Disaster

**5. Potions Disaster**

The Potions lesson next day was a disaster, even by Harry's standards, even though it provided them with some good laughs.

They'd been matched by threes this time, Neville with Dean and Seamus for once, and Harry and his friends were under a barrage of hexes from the Slytherins that seemed to be systematical.

Snape, meanwhile, was about his own desk and seemed to notice not one thing.

But he surely would, as soon as some Gryffindor lost it, and got at the Snake house.

Hermione had sighed when she'd seen the desk they'd been assigned for work, and murmured something that hat sounded like 'trouble table'.

Later on, Harry had been amazed how fast she was in noticing all mischief that was coming their way, and how she countered or deflected everything the moment it was thrown at them almost effortlessly, with a shake of her wrist – all the while going about her potion as if those were the most natural things to do simultaneously. She was also very quiet at their defence. No teacher who was not looking for mischief would notice. It smacked of routine...

It seemed to Harry that Ron did not notice half of what was going on, and that his friend did not mind Hermione doing all the defending, busying himself rather quietly with the cutting of ingredients.

He himself was getting angry though, so much so that it must be palpable.

Neville and the other boys, as well as the other tables, did not seem to face a fraction of the mischief they had to endure, and Harry wondered what it all meant, but he was too busy concocting the appointed potion and counting his stirs to stick to that line of thought. When he'd worked with Neville, they had been under constant attack… even at other tables.

Harry was mainly stirring the potion and thus had intervals he could spend observing the room. The Slytherins seemed to work quietly in their groups much like they did, and their hexes were so inconspicuous that it was hard to tell who cast them, or when.

An appearance of huge slugs in Parkinson's cauldron by a deflection of Hermione's led to an orgy of squeals, which in turn at least got Pansy a reproachful look from Snape, who had walked over and cleared them away without a word.

Harry fumed. Had that happened to a Gryffindor, it would have been a detention at least, or even points off their house.

When the Professor walked the room, he always passed by their table without comment, which meant that they were doing fine. He came down instead on Seamus, Dean and Neville who had, from what he'd seen, been left in relative peace at their table otherwise.

All of this was weird.

Harry could not remember detecting a pattern to these things before, but he did recall his recent suspicion that Snape did teach the Slytherins things he should not, and encouraged them to test them during his lessons. That the Potions master did not prevent them from wreaking mischief, as long as it hit Gryffindor, was obvious.

For them, it was Defence against the Dark Arts, and for the Slytherins, Dark Arts... That did make sense, or did it?

How was he to ever trust that man, no matter what Dumbledore told him?

So far, things were going fairly well. Hermione, while concentrating on the recipe and organising the brewing, had deflected anything that came along quietly, with an expression that Harry knew to be impatience, but which as well expressed an extent of boredom with the attacks, and their unimaginative attitude, that must drive Malfoy and his friends to distraction... It surely would do that to him, were he the attacker, Harry thought.

Trying to make the Gryffindors smash vials or beakers was no use; all of them had charmed theirs unbreakable long since. But the Slytherins did lack imagination...

At that moment, Harry saw the huge reddish spider crawling towards them. He tried to lift its glamour inconspicuously, or to reduce it, but failed.

If Ron saw it, he was likely to make some sound or drop things, which would surely bring Snape over to their table and down on them. The git would assume, out of sheer meanness, that they had conjured the beast up, and very possibly take points for the disturbance… If the Potions Professor had a really bad day, he would clear their cauldron, too, claiming the potion was substandard or spoiled. Then they could turn in nothing, and their collective work would not be graded...

Meanwhile, the spider had crept closer. Malfoy wore a huge sneer, and Harry imagined grinding the spider into the centre of it. He nudged Hermione who'd been absorbed in her preparations and, for once, not noticed the mischief. First, he pointed to the spider, then to Malfoy.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "It IS getting too much." In the blink of an eye she cast a spell under her breath that wiped the grin off the faces of Draco and his buddies, and another that sent the spider scuttling back – no, towards their Professor!

It reached the hem of his robe, grappled around, and started to climb.

Snape did not notice.

Hermione nudged Ron, alerting him to the thing. The redhead gasped, then grinned. The spider was now as far up as the small of Snape's back.

Hermione whispered: "I convinced it it would find a mate up there..."

They gaped at her in disbelief. Then, Harry giggled, Ron guffawed, and when this attracted the Potions master's attention, they both bowed over the cauldron pretending to cough because of its fumes, fighting hard to keep their composure. That was a fitting mate for the git! Harry almost was into fits, but he somehow managed to keep quiet at least.

When Snape approached silently to stare at them, Ron became uncomfortable, and Harry was distracted by the thought that his best friend was far more scared of spiders than even of Snape. The spider was nowhere to be seen at the moment, due to its being on Snape's back, but the Slytherins had noticed, and started to make noises to alert their head of house, and he turned around.

"They can't re-charm the beast," whispered Hermione, "for fear they might hit Snape!"

Harry snorted. Now wasn't she ingenious!

By the time the Professor had started to stride over to the Slytherin tables to ask what all this was about, the spider was safely perched on his shoulder, grappling the greasy hair with its first two legs, appearing to be unable to get a hold there to continue its journey up to the dome of the Potions master's head.

This looked as if it was trying to comb his hair.

Half the class was in fits now, even several of the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors were almost rolling on the ground shaking, while from Lavender's and Parvati's table came retching noises, mingled with helpless laughter.

The spider was, if one counted the legs, about as big as Snape's head, and Ron was not even grinning anymore.

Neville merely gaped, and started to say: "Profe..."

A hand over his mouth squashed the attempt to warn to a gurgle, but luckily, Neville did not fight too hard. When Seamus released him, Harry could hear whispers of fierce arguing from their table.

Neville had become much more self-confident lately, and it was very much in character with him to not accept any such jokes, but warn the person they were played upon regardless of who they were, or how often that led to his being accused as the culprit himself. He was decided and persistent in that matter. Neville had a very strong sense of justice, having had too many degrading pranks played on himself to let others suffer the same.

Snape now knew that not all was in order.

Hermione pressed their friends to work on, and not to pay too much attention to the scenario; she was sure that Snape would turn on them within the minute, and they should be finished by then. Both boys saw the sense in that, and worked frantically, behind the turned, bespidered back of the Potions master.

With a sigh of relief, Harry turned off the fire, cast a cooling charm on their potion which of course, Hermione being chef d'oevre, looked perfect. They began bottling it just as Snape turned around again, stalking toward them. They'd have a sample now at least, even if their teacher cleared out their cauldron.

Ron backed up as far as he could at the Professor's approach to their table. Snape eyed him sternly, not saying a thing. The spider's front legs were waving over his head which looked really weird. It was now moving more to the front, on Snape's left shoulder.

Didn't he feel the weight of that thing? It was so big, it must be heavy!

Ron made a retching sound that he barely managed to hide behind his hand, and stared at his Potions Professor in horror. Snape noticed, and now approached the boy.

The Slytherins started to jeer, and Snape turned around for a moment, giving Ron a full view of the spider...

Ron could not back up further, being impeded by a large stone column, and almost slid down to the floor. He made himself very small in an attempt to get as far away from the beast as possible.

When Snape turned back, threatening to get closer still to say something sure to be intimidating, Ron said, pointing and stammering: "There- there's a ... a... On your shoulder, sir..."

Just that very moment, one of the spider's legs brushed Snape's cheek, and he felt it.

The Potions master turned his head carefully. On facing the Spider close-up, a look of disgust swept across his face. He pulled he animal off his robe, holding it by a leg, and it curled around his hand, trying to wrangle free.

Its body was almost as big as the teacher's palm.

Ron retched again, gaping at Snape in horror who, noticing his revulsion, waved the beast at him.

"And here I was thinking you were learning to show me proper respect..." the Professor murmured under his breath.

"Who did that, Weasley? Did you?" he said, more loudly.

Ron shook his head in terror, his eyes on the spider all the time; and merely pointed in the direction of the Slytherin tables. For once, Snape did not question the information, but turned and strode over, the spider dangling from his hand, squirming to get free.

"What is this? Who did that?"

The Slytherins had fallen utterly silent, most of them looking very guilty.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and when Ron had recovered enough to join them, Harry murmured to him: "Will that be a first and we'll see a detention over there and points taken from them by their own head of house?"

He gave Malfoy a wide grin who'd been watching them with half an eye, and the blond boy was distracted for a moment, scowling. Which for once was just the instant Snape chose to speak to him.

The Professor repeated the question.

"A- a spider, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Is it, indeed, Mr. Malfoy. Would you kindly inform me as to the meaning of this?" he said in his most silken voice, and waved the spider in front of Draco's face, who visibly shrunk back.

"What is this thing doing on my back?"

Draco pointed at Blaise Zabini.

"He did it, it was supposed to scare Weasley..."

"Aha. And, Zabini, WHAT is it?"

Zabini glared at Malfoy and said: "It's just an engorged garden spider. And I did only provide it. Am I supposed to spill who charmed it?"

Snape merely nodded.

"Malfoy did, of course, and Parkinson."

"Ah. Well, and what is the thing doing on my shoulder if it was aimed at Weasley?"

Pansy spoke up.

"We... we don't know, sir. They must have noticed, and somehow..."

"You are a bunch of failures!" Snape hissed, obviously very angry. "I expect you – Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson –, at my office, at eight tonight, and we will see what we can do about your... lack of aim."

The three nodded, unhappily.

Hermione and Harry grinned, but Ron said: "No points off Slytherin house at all! And what a nasty trick!"

"Hey, they got a detention or something," said Harry, "and that is a first! Have you ever heard of such a thing before?"

"No…" Ron kept quiet now, but he was fuming.

After that, Snape took the spider in his left had, pointed his wand at it, and murmured something. It shrunk to the size of a small red garden spider.

He let it go, and said: "Clear up. Turn in your potions now. For homework, the usual: describe the process, the properties it was supposed to have, where you failed and why, and elaborate on the properties of the ingredients, and their other uses. Three feet, no less. Do hurry up now, please."

Ron groaned.

"When it was bigger, one could at least see it easily!"

"Do you really think it's the only spider here? I'd be much more curious to know what Snape uncharmed it with. I could not do it, and I tried several things," Hermione said. "Finite did not work!"

"I wonder if it is still after him?" asked Harry.

The three had to giggle all the way to lunch in the Great Hall over that one.

Harry felt, though, that today would not be a very good day to approach Snape about Occlumency again like he had intended to.

In the evening, the Headmaster sent a message telling him to come to his office after dinner.


	6. The Pensieve

**6. The Pensieve**

In the evening, Harry and the old wizard met again in the Headmaster office. Harry had a letter with him that he wanted to show to Dumbledore. It was from Fred and George whom he'd been writing to. What had started out as a joke had become a regular and frequent contact, and was enjoyed greatly by both sides. Harry had ended up trying to convince them to return to school, now that Umbridge was gone. There would be no trouble in re-establishing them at Hogwarts. The letters were still good for many laughs, but the Weasley twins were becoming increasingly exasperated by Harry's attempts to make them come back to Hogwarts only to take exams.

It was true that Harry wanted them back. He lacked the fun they had been. Hermione had supported his course greatly, but he was not sure that he, all by himself, would have written to them the way he had. Ron had been sufficiently outspoken about the attempts, but Harry was sure the he, too, wanted his brothers back. They'd been very supportive in his Quidditch practice after all, during summer.

Fred and George and their jokes could be taxing but nothing ever was boring around them, and a lot of fun to be had if one managed to stay out of the main line of fire. Harry always got the best out of it anyway, due to his gift to them after the Triwizard Tournament.

In their evenings together, Harry had eventually told Dumbledore a lot about himself, and this correspondence had been among the topics. He wondered if the old man had pushed or pointed him in the direction the main theme of the letters had taken, but could not make it out. It didn't matter too much either, Harry thought, because for once he was of one mind with the Headmaster.

In any case, the Weasley twins were always a good subject of talk, helping Harry to stave off the true purpose of his evening meetings with the Headmaster.

Tea and scones were on the table, regardless of it being past dinner time.

"So, how are things going with the Weasley twins? Will they come back?"

"I'm afraid not, sir, but please do read for yourself."

Harry proffered the letter.

The Headmaster read and, despite his disappointment, he had to smile every now and then.

Fred and George had not budged an inch. Far from taking offence at Harry's attempts at forcing them, understanding his approach all too well themselves, and probably feeling flattered by the honest effort, they had merely offered, or rather, threatened, to pay him back his 1000 Galleons if they heard another word of it. No way they would return to Hogwarts to take their N.E.W.T.s, or for any other reason, except to wreak havoc! Their mum would reconcile eventually, as soon as she was reassured that they were not wasting their lives, as soon as she could be sure of success – viewed from that point, attempting to obtain grades and things would be a huge waste of time.

Apparently, though, they were becoming impatient with Harry's persistence. They promised Harry in an elaborate manner to hex and jinx him most painfully if he wouldn't refrain from his attempts to convince them, and said that they preferred the previous boring correspondence. He was sure they would.

"Well, then, Harry, I think you really have done your best – if resorting to blackmail can be called good" – the old man's eyes twinkled – "and I guess we have to leave it at that."

"I might try some more, just to see how far they'll go, sir."

The Headmaster smiled.

"They are your friends, Harry. You'll do the right thing."

The time for banter was over. They sat in silence and listened to the sounds of the office for some time. Fawkes was distinctly snoring, as usual.

Harry decided that he just had to know and would ask today, even if it got him closer to Occlumency lessons with Snape.

"Professor Dumbledore, the last time, the last thing we talked about were my parents…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You said I might ask you whatever I wanted once I…"

"Yes, Harry, I did."

Harry had been pondering the subject from many points of view and found that he could not help it, nor put the question in words less gross. This was what he felt, after what he'd seen in the Pensieve. If he was true and honest with himself, he had to admit that the feelings his illicit viewing of Snape's memories had evoked in him hurt almost as much as Sirius' death. He felt that he had lost his father again by the confusion and contempt. Harry desperately wanted to get rid of that pain, and feared his new-found introspective and self-acknowledgement to be short-lived. As it wasn't very uplifting, he'd probably not miss it that much, but wanted to make use of it while it lasted.

"Was my dad really... Was he the school bully, he and Sirius? I feel he must have been a real arsehole!"

He'd just had to say it, bluntly!

Albus Dumbledore was taken aback.

"Harry, my dear boy – of course not! He was nothing of the sort at all, but a loyal friend, a great wizard and fighter, and a great person to have around! Now how did you get that impression?"

"Well." Harry hung his head.

"Well?"

"I – I saw him torturing Snape in the Pensieve you gave him for my Occlumency lessons, last year..."

"PROFESSOR Snape he is, Harry! Now did you, indeed? So THAT was what Severus wouldn't tell me when he flatly refused to resume your lessons, without giving any reason at all…"

Dumbledore stroked his long beard, musing for some moments, appearing to be not at all happy with this turn of events. What else was there that those young fireballs would not talk about to him?

He would simply have to start at the beginning.

"First of all, let me state that that Pensieve is not mine but Severus's; a most precious and ancient heirloom of his family. He leaves it to my use at my request and I am to keep it for him – with his memories, should need arise. That in itself would be a sufficient statement of trust on his side, and a token of his turning by the by since, with this, I am the bearer of the living history of the House of Soniverirus for thousands of years back. I did not mean to tell you, it being of no import in the matters at hand, but while the issue comes up…

"You can't possibly have any idea of the value of this thing, Harry, even by such grand words – let me tell you it is unique, and much-coveted. The only way to keep it out of the hands of certain Ministers and self-proclaimed lords and, by that, some of their friends, aside from destroying it, is to have them believe that it is mine – if they have to know of its existence at all.

"Neither does Lord Voldemort know about its true ownership, I am sure – he would have found means to force Severus to hand it over to him. Actually, it is the heirloom of a close relative of Severus's. He gave away rather offhandedly what was not his; but since the person, for the time being, has no use for it, I might as well keep it. What is more, it served his purpose just as well. He is the last of his House besides, and both will agree that the Soniverirus Pensieve is well-protected and safe if it is with me.

"That is one reason why I can't just tell everyone I absolutely trust Professor Snape, Harry. Such things are never easy… To trust, yet not to trust… If the Ministry of Magic knew it was his they'd confiscate and hold it as they do right now most of the Snape estates and Severus's rightful heritage, on mere suspicion and arbitrariness, without proof. There is greed there, too, of course. They profit from what they have a hold over.

"The Potions master has not Malfoy's grand hand with officials... However, there's too much in there that can't be taken out anymore and must never become known to the wrong people.

"You see, too, why none of this must ever leave this office, and if you are not sure of yourself, you may put your memories of today's session in here, and I will seal them. They will not be lost or forgotten to you, you just will not be able to transfer them, be it in voice or writing, by free will or coercion, Legilmency, Veritaserum, or magic, or otherwise. You can take them back at any time, assisted by either me or the Professor. He has agreed to such a procedure should the need arise. This offer is a great honour as, I am sure, you will understand."

Harry nodded mutely. This was becoming a bit too much already.

He realized that if he did put his memories into the Pensieve, it would mean that not only Dumbledore, but Snape as well could rifle through his thoughts, and vowed to himself not to do it unless forced to.

And how had he come to think that the white-haired wizard before him had grown weary, old and tired? He distinctly remembered feeling pity for him, the last time they'd met… Now, though, the Headmaster's manner of speech was almost frightening in its intensity, and the pale blue eyes blazed.

Albus Dumbledore's voice softened a bit. He had noticed that he was frightening Harry.

"So, Professor Snape gave this precious thing to me, together with the memories not only of his House, reaching back for millennia, but of his own deeds and misdeeds – so I could protect and control them, in case the Death Eaters would ever entirely mistrust him and put him to Veritaserum, or worse. What is in here, cannot come out there. Thoughts in it are not unreachable to the thinker, even at a great distance, but no memory put in it can be forced out of your head by any means known unless you take it back yourself – as one of those silver strands, see? Neither can their existence be detected or verified.

"A Pensieve can also be used to show what is too painful to tell which is what we, sadly, use it most for nowadays. It is easier for Severus to report about Death Eater meetings that way. How to see memories in it that don't belong to you, you do already know."

Harry blushed a bit.

"But that is only possible if you have the thing itself, not from any distance, again, and you, Harry, know not how to steer what you see..."

Was the old wizard mocking him now? It was possible to navigate in it?

The old wizard picked up on his thoughts.

"Navigating the seas of time, of memory, is a high Art that is usually restricted to the youngest female member of the House of the owner, the House of Snape in this case. I cannot fully do it myself.

"A most useful thing, a Pensieve is, and I would covet it, was it not in my hands already... It is the only one now left of its kind, and no known wizard alive, including your Potions Professor, Tom Riddle, or myself, could make another like it. It was wrought by Giants once, and I do doubt that any of those still alive could create one today. It is really a very precious thing, Harry.

"There are hints that Pensieves might once have been used to send any kind of visualisation to other users of a similar device. I am not entirely sure if there's anyone alive who knows how to, or what is needed for such use of it. It would be helpful indeed... Maybe we'd need another of its kind. As there appears to be none other left, the thought is rather pointless, and no way to find out. Someone like Idane might have known more... Hagrid does not, for sure."

"But then, Snape could..."

Harry did not have to finish that sentence.

"Yes, precisely. And I would read his, while it is with me, should I wish to do so, or your thoughts, should you decide to put them in there. You might wish to consider using it nevertheless. It IS a relief, Harry…

"So, I don't know how much you saw of that memory of what James Potter did to Severus Snape – but believe me, the latter was not altogether an angel either in his time as a student here, and his insistence about adhering to the rules nowadays is, in part, well-founded on the knowledge of how to break them – and the possible effects of such actions...

"Sticking to the rules is not a typical Slytherin trait... For instance, Severus Snape is partial: students of his own house have quite some headroom with him, and don't have to conform to the rules like all others, as you well know."

"Erm- Professor Dumbledore, another question?"

"Go ahead, Harry."

"Why is he allowed to do that? Be unjust and protect his house? Why don't you stop things like that? A teacher should be just – or try to be! You didn't interfere with that Umbridge woman, either, and she even used to torture students!"

At the mentioning of Umbridge's name, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat.

"There is a variety of reasons to that, Harry, some of which will become obvious to you eventually, I am sure; but with Umbridge, I honestly did not know what was going on, and still feel I have to apologise, to all of you. As you do know, I was at the time relieved of most of my positions, and had no voice with the Ministry of Magic, or the Wizengamot. I had to keep a low profile, but had I known what that woman was up to... It would have been a handle against them!

"That torture should never have been allowed to go as far as it did! That's part of what made me realise that I would have to talk to you.

"You should have told me, see? You, of all people… Young Granger should have...

Harry gritted his teeth. Why did the old man still managed to make him feel that it was his fault that they had not talked face to face all year long?

"She didn't know!"

"Oh, did she not? Just to let you know: we do have a whole bundle of parental complaints about Umbridge's 'detentions' of 'writing lines' by now. Were things not what they are, and the woman still in office, this would feature big in the Daily Prophet, and an inquiry by the Board be unavoidable, trust me, but the Ministry is burying the whole affair."

And had Hermione known? Harry wondered. Why had she kept quiet if she had? It was unlike her... She must have known about it at some point implicitly, even if he himself had not talked about it. Many others had suffered the same punishment…

With a sigh, Harry remembered the oppressive, crouched atmosphere of most of last year. And that was over! For good, he hoped…

After a while, the Headmaster spoke again.

"So, Snape does believe today that rules are necessary and to be obeyed – mostly, that is, but he did not always think so. This belief seems to be another result of the cruel story that I am going to tell you, by his reluctant consent.

"Let us get back to what you saw in the Pensieve in Professor Snape's office.

"As you know, there was a war on between Snape and Potter, pretty much from the very first time they met. James Potter was the better wizard of the two. Harry, you are as strong as your father was in your age, if not stronger...

"It was not for lack of trying that Snape never really injured him nor did him harm.

"Severus Snape was an awkward youth, as you must have gathered from what you saw, and had no close friends, not even among the other children from the ancient pure-bred families which then too were mostly sorted into Slytherin house. He knew his Dark spells already. Most of Sirius's relatives, the Sorting Hat put in Slytherin too, by the way. Like you, Sirius chose not to be there, with them.

"Severus Snape was, and is still, something of a loner. I believe Lucius Malfoy was the closest thing to a friend he ever had. That only changed while he was with – her, with part-giant, part-Muggle Idane.

"Your father tried to get at Severus Snape whenever he could, and I believe James's flirt with Idane to have been along those lines rather than real love interest. Events seem to consolidate this thesis.

"But what Snape could never forgive was that he owed your father his life. He was indebted to his worst enemy. He hated that then and still hates it now. He feels obliged to protect you, but that is not what drives him on – you will agree that he has paid back that debt manifold…"

Dumbledore seemed to expect Harry's assent, but Harry did not feel very generous toward his Professor at the moment. He would not admit that the Headmaster had a point there.

"Snape might have changed during his apprenticeship. I would not know because I completely lost track of him after he took his N.E.W.T.s and left Hogwarts, as is quite common with most students. In his year teaching here, he was more awkward and withdrawn still than I remembered, and I left him alone. What I told you about his problems with his students, I found out by other staff or inference, there's not one thing he approached me with during this time. I can't imagine that he was an effective spy for Voldemort then at all.

"Severus Snape surely had changed greatly when I later met him 'managing' Idane. Whatever the reason, Idane G. did choose Snape. After that was obvious, it became clear that there had never been a doubt to it, right from the very first moment they'd met.

"This brings us back to our story, too.

"I do believe the turning point of the relation between your father and Severus Snape to have been a fight – I do not know that for sure, mark, as most of the relevant events took place after their leaving Hogwarts – remember I mentioned something like that?"

Harry nodded.

"Apparently, your father tried to pick a fight with Severus over Idane, at one point – and she did set James right, with Lily's help, I think. She knew them all quite well by then, being one of the very few Muggles without any magical connections, besides their King and Queen, who ever got invited and accepted into the homes of old wizard families for ages... This is not counting, of course, the occasional family members of Muggle-born wizards.

"That was, obviously, because of her Art - these wonderful shows and events that, as it seems, Muggles call "installations" or "performances", which had the best of both worlds, and more. But it was also because of what she was, her personality, too. She was like a memory of better and stronger ages or a hope for a brighter future – there's more need for a reminder or taste of that in times like ours, I think. Idane was really not 'just' a Muggle.

"Anyway, that fight – if there really was one, that is –, was, in my opinion, also the point after which James Potter finally turned out to be the truly decent chap he had always promised to be, and came off his arrogant and sometimes, indeed, rather nasty ways. I do not know what she told him or what the two girls did to him that finally worked, but work it did..."

"So you do say that until then, my father was an…"

"No, Harry, not at all!"

The Headmaster sounded decided and a bit impatient.

"James Potter was young, strong, and lively – it is the best, often, that need to sow their wild oats like that. Be that as it may, James Potter and Lily Evans got married in the end.

"It might have been mainly Idane, making James see what Lily really meant to him. She liked Lily and James a lot – and believe me, if she liked something or cared about someone, she used and abused her Giant's gift of the Insight and told them who they really were and to what end – I have seen grown men cry because of what she told them about themselves. Her choice of people she considered worthy of that treatment never ceased to amaze me. I think she might have been your godmother had she lived.

"For all her peaceful radiance, she was not without weapons. It didn't happen too often, but you should have seen her angry – that was like a storm from the mountains, completely unstoppable, and much like an ancient goddess of thunder! If she got down to it, she was far sharper than Snape in his worst mood, if you can imagine that..."

Impossible! "No, not really..."

"Well, just take my word for it, then. She had her moods, too - occasionally everyone got in her way. But when she was good she was so gorgeous that everyone would forgive her anything. Particularly as she had the gift of healing the wounds she struck – and not only those –, by her word alone. Yet, occasionally she was not generous there. There are people the wiser for her nastiness – and her apologies, too. I think she knew very well who would need her harshness, and who could not bear it long. I do think she let your father have some of that medicine, or his own, rather. I have, summing that up, never seen her use her Gift in an unjustified manner.

"Altogether, she was a woman like a star – going her own way steadily, distantly, to be adored, honoured and also, feared. And one man alone, matching her like a dark sun would that day star up there, did neither of that but loved her dearly, as I am sure, and she loved him back. He hardly survived her death. Something in him broke then, and he came to me to obtain revenge.

"In Idane was much of the light that the old giants must have had in them, in the ancient days, when the most beautiful and generous families of theirs were the rulers of the North – yes, of all our and the Muggles' lands... They were just and brave and strong, but were killed by eviller and stupider giants that came from the East, and in the passing of time, nearly all of them became brutal and greedy and stupid... Today, they are a matter of children's stories, a bedtime horror, despised and feared, if often believed extinct – not untruthfully, as most of those left are much like moving stones, hardly wiser than Trolls, often and easily confused with them... But not all of them are like that always, hear you, and those very few might be our only resort in the darker days to come...

"So, Severus Snape loved a giants' offspring, a mixed blood, of all beings – imagine what the other Death Eaters must have said to him, but he didn't care... He probably didn't get too much hassle though because, as it seems, the other Death Eaters nor Lord Voldemort himself did believe true love between them to be an option at any point – nor do they, as far as I know, now. Voldemort might, at some point, have reckoned this connection of his follower to be an asset, considering his attempts at bringing other magical races to his side, but what I know of either Snape's or Idane's history does shows no trace of such strategical reasoning.

"Idane would have been a pretty powerful witch, as well, more so for someone trained late in life, I am sure: I could see she had it in her, and offered to train her personally, but she wasn't interested, and declined. She's one of those who were missed by the Ministry of Magic when they scan all the children for the Gift. Not that magical knowledge would have done her much good, in the end... Said she'd been without it for so long, and that Severus would do the things needing to be done by magic, and surely much better than her, too.

"Yet, their work did bring about a need for using some Occlumency and Legilmency, as they often had to work hand over hand in order to achieve some of the more complicated effects they had worked out. And, of course, for that they had to shut off to influences from outside.

"If you do open your mind to someone close by to be read but have no eye contact to, and there are a lot of folk about, whether Muggle or witch, there will be a background noise of thoughts and mental images that can drown out the necessary communication entirely, particularly if people are exited, which of course they would be at events like those the two set up."

Dumbledore smiled.

"I am sure Fred and George Weasley will want to know about these things rather sooner...

"Idane was a natural in every – 'passive', you might call it –, Art, such as the Mencies, Prognosis etc., everything to have to do with the intake of the senses – mainly of sound, sight and smell, so that came to her easy enough. She was not a Seer, though.

"However, to willingly put mental pressure on someone at a distance is not a gift bestowed on witches and wizards. Even Voldemort has to use those black marks of his on the arms of his close followers to summon them to him. Only with you, Harry, that is different, and there can only be one reason for it, which you already know. Or, rather, two now, what with his resurrection, but the second would not have come to pass without the first..."

Harry shuddered a bit, and Dumbledore refilled his tea cup and urged him to drink.

"There was also a need for rescue and healing charms occasionally, in case of accidents. So, she got pretty good at these disciplines, as did Snape, and that did something for us, not her though, in the end...

"To see them at work was an experience in itself, and one not easily to be had, as, of course, the event of a semi-magical fireworks environment (for lack of a better word) is not one in which one should wish to see the wheels turn... most people wouldn't want to, that is. These two were like one mind in two bodies, really.

"You know, Severus became an excellent cook during his work with her. Cooking's not so very far from potion-making, after all... But, oddly enough, he always did it the Muggle way, by hand, swore that way it would taste like nothing else in the world. He did most of the catering for her events at some point, always in association with Muggle cooks, but with some special ingredients – I understand that these festivities are still a subject of talk in the Muggle world, as well.

Dumbledore slipped into silence again. After a few moments, he resumed:

"I don't think that anyone beside myself was really aware of the depth of her Insight and the kind and extent of her Prescience. That Gift of Prognosis of hers – one could consider it to be some type of Weather Magic, a very old and forgotten type of magical knowledge. Imagine a rather precise forecast of what could be called 'emotional' or 'wizarding' weather, I guess, if you can. Never any details, names or places, but a most precise general view, or map, of the moods of a certain day, the areas those moods pertained to, left-out corners, of the spells that might work better or not at all... Of areas sheltered against magic or used by, say, Dark wizards... It was amazing and even brought us closer to Lord Voldemort's hideout. Even Unplottable places were not entirely Unplottable to her, by this Gift. She could assign a closer range to such a spot than anyone else I ever heard of. The Death Eater's very own presence at her shows did that for us.

"The kind of forecast of the wizarding weather we have today was, I believe, built on the experiences some Ministry members had with her. But so far no-one has been found to score worth mentioning, if only once or twice a month, with just one of the several issues she covered simultaneously and effortlessly. She hardly ever failed. I believe it might take a good shot of Giant's blood to do it, and maybe from the male side... Hagrid, for instance, surely doesn't have that Gift, to his disadvantage – I do rather wish he did, sometimes.

"Another thing she could do was the following: if you gave her something someone had merely touched, she would be able to tell what kind of person that was, and what they were up to... No names or personal descriptions, but most precise accounts of their emotional economy, and predictions of likely behaviour...

"I understand that Muggle show magicians like to do something similar: they take something a person hands them, and tell them what they had for dinner, or that they should beware of tall dark strangers... Would you know if that is true, Harry?"

"No... But I think I saw something like that on TV – Muggle television… once, when the Dursleys were away. I think they said that there are agents in the audience they take the things from... I've never seen it done, either way, sir."

"Hmmm... a pity."

The old wizard fell silent, leaving Harry to his own thoughts for a while. After that pause, Dumbledore asked: "Harry - was there nothing about what you saw in the Pensieve in your Occlumency lesson that struck you as odd?"

"No, why would that be?"

"Think, Harry, come on!"

"No, really, sir, it seemed much like a movie" – Dumbledore raised his brow – "like some ordinary account of – oh, I see!"

His vague thought from some days before suddenly came back.

"Professor, what one sees in the Pensieve must not necessarily be what really did happen, must it? It could be what the person who put it in there thought they'd seen, right?"

Dumbledore looked at him admiringly.

"That is very much so, Harry, and well observed – closer, yes, but still not the point I was getting at. What I meant was this: how was it that you did see the boy Snape whirling through the air and all that? I do know that memory, you see. Professor Snape could have known himself that it would, for you, make his point about your father far more sharply than any of his sneering derision ever could and..."

Harry was not heeding the old wizard's last sentence at all.

"Why, of course because that's what he – no – sure!" he blurted out in understanding, and, by this, interrupting his Headmaster. When I was in the courtroom below the Ministry, I never saw you whole, I WAS you, sort of! I almost took your place, and was always very close to you! I could not move around freely, detached from what you remembered, from your point of view. So this means that what I saw in the Occlumency lesson was not Snape's memory at all! But whose was it, then?"

"That, Harry, is the point precisely, and a very interesting question. So it was none of the Marauders, or the others present, either. You never saw the onlooker because you were in almost the same spot. It must have been a person who had access to the Pensieve in those days, too, someone who probably forgot to remove this particular memory, or preferred not to do so. This would alos explain why Professor Snape couldn't remove it, right?

"You did not bother to look around... What did the memory feel like? It felt like pity or some such thing, and a lot of anger and pain, right? Someone felt very much what one would expect the boy Snape to feel in that situation – rage, a kind of self-pity and so on – that's what I think makes mistaking this memory for one of Severus's own so easy…"

"But if it wasn't his memory, then why was he so angry with me? And whose memory is it, then?"

"Come, now, Harry – first of all you did trespass your Professor's privacy by using his Pensieve – Severus does believe that, when left alone in someone else's room, it is very indecent to rifle their stuff, not to mention their private memories. Professor Snape would not do that himself, he claims, and he expects others to adhere to such unwritten rules of decency and style – and, second, and still more important, you saw him being humiliated and losing face in a situation not very flattering in general. What you'd expect?"

Harry had lowered his eyes. This really was getting too much.

"Sir – may I leave? I feel very tired…"

"Yes, of course, Harry – I do believe you will reconsider in the future before you delve into someone else's private sphere without permission, won't you?

"Yes, sir… Good night, then."

"Good night, Harry."

Harry left the office at almost a run. He managed to push aside the last bit of what he and the Headmaster had talked about on his way back to the common room, but he was sure that what he had learned tonight would turn out to be important, or rather haunt him, in the future.

No-one was up anymore, at least not in the common room. After getting ready for bed very quietly and without waking anybody, Harry was asleep in no time. Next morning, not even a nagging feeling of having forgotten something important reminded him of what he was supposed to tell to Hermione.

The idea that Snape was teaching the Slytherins Dark Arts, on the other hand, kept creeping up on him more and more often. Harry was sure he would ave to talk about it eventually, and could only hope that he would not be considered mental by his friends.


	7. Questions

**7. Questions**

A couple of days later when the Gryffindor sixth years were walking across the entry hall to lunch, Harry had finally made up his mind to ask Hermione. He just had to know if he was going daft, making up idiotic things, or if there might be a basis to his ruminations. The events of the last Potions lesson had somewhat reinforced his conviction that there was something to his idea. What Dumbledore had told Harry about Snape managing to intimidate and dissemble effortlessly, even with his have-been Death Eater friends, only made the thought more plausible. But Harry felt he could not begin to fathom what kind of heart and mind it would take to carry out such a thing.

This decision finally reminded him, making him feel a bit guilty because of his carelessness about his own idea of having the Headmaster talk to Hermione about strategy. He'd been meaning to tell her right away, but had forgotten, and somehow, something always got in the way when he did remember. So, now it would be …

"Oh by the way, Hermione – Dumbledore wants to see you: I forgot to tell you over and again! He expects to meet you sometime this week in the afternoon or before dinner if you find the time – as soon as possible, but the date doesn't matter..."

Unless one counted the issue at hand as urgent.

Hermione looked at him with curiosity.

"You forgot…? And it is not pressing, but…?"

"If you can't manage today, tomorrow or one of the next days would be fine, it seems..."

Harry refused to venture any further information, or to admit that he'd forgotten for days. There were other things on his mind, after all.

Now he was going bonkers, or was he? He simply had to ask.

Hermione was about to enter the Great Hall.

"Hmm... Hermione, a sec? Another thing..."

"Sure, Harry?"

"I hope this won't sound too stupid, but I don't know who else to ask about it. Not Dumbledore... See, those rumours about Snape badly wanting to teach Defence against the Dark Arts... There might be something to that, but not what we thought..."

Harry faltered. The immediate attention Hermione showed at his words did not help. This was not easy to think, and less easy to speak still, but he composed himself.

"Erh, Hermione – would you say it makes sense to consider Snape's Potions lessons a kind of Defence against the Dark Arts lessons, fully-grown, too, and not a substitute at all? He's been doing these things, accepting Slytherin attacks, forestalling ours, and probably guiding them, and for years, as you said..."

Ron gasped, staring at him like he'd gone mad, which was just what he'd expected.

Hermione stopped dead and fully turned toward him, staring, rendered speechless for a moment. She was obviously thunderstruck.

Ron started to speak: "Now, Harry, I know you didn't contract a bludger last training session! I wonder what has…"

When he saw their friend's concentrated look, he stopped mid-sentence.

After some seconds, Hermione said:

"Harry... I think... I think you've got it! This is... all the pieces fall into place... Just leave me... You go on... I have to go to the library and think that over... If someone asks for me, I am ill or something..."

She spoke very fast and in an unusually high pitch. Her excitement was obvious, and her last words were hardly audible because she had turned and hurried off toward the Library already, completely submerged in her thoughts, lunch forgotten.

Harry looked after her, slightly befuddled, but relieved that he seemed to have hit a switch somewhere, instead of being scolded for being mental.

"Don't forget to go see Dumbledore!" he shouted after her, thinking that she might need a reminder later on anyway, considering how she tended to forget the hours when she was with the books.

Harry could not begin to imagine what she might want to look up concerning Defence against the Dark Arts, but then she probably just wanted a quiet place to think things over.

"I think we should meet in the Room of Requirement when she tells us what Dumbledore said, it's safer there..."

Ron shook his head at his friend in disbelief of the things he'd just heard, but said: "If you say so, Harry... but this really _is_ wild! I do want to hear the rest of it though!"

What Dumbledore had told him in their last meeting had finally instilled in Harry a sense of urgency concerning the need to take up Occlumency lessons again.

That evening, he and Ron were waiting up in the common room for Hermione to return from the meeting with the Headmaster. They had abandoned Wizard Chess after Harry found that he was unable to concentrate at all.

He said: "I will ask him, soon."

Ron, who'd been daydreaming about Quidditch and dinner, started at his friend's voice, and said: "Ask whom? About what?"

"Me... Snape… Occlumency… remember? I told you some time ago that Dumbledore wants me to take it up again, and just said…"

"YOU WILL WHAT...?" gasped Ron, dropping the textbook that had been on his lap when he jumped up. "You… WILL ASK SNAPE TO TEACH YOU OCCLUMENCY AGAIN!"

"Hey, don't shout, you moron! So you didn't listen…"

Luckily, the common room was empty, it being rather late already. They were waiting for Hermione to return and had had it to themselves for some time now, but Harry for one had become nervous that the walls might have ears. The experience with Rita Skeeter's animagus form had made a deep impression on him that kept coming back. And: Constant Vigilance!

"Sorry", whispered Ron.

Feeling that his friend had calmed down somewhat, Harry continued. "Yes, I will ask him, but careful, with an apology thrown in, of course – I wouldn't for my life want to have him angry and hateful of me again, and he's practically thrown me out of his rooms last time!"

" Apolo --- Last time…? You – you mean to say you tried before! You – YOU APOLOGIZED TO THE GREASY GIT! What on earth for! And that thing you asked Hermione about…Harry, you MUST be mad!"

"Shhh... Er – yes, I did..."

Ron looked as if he'd been betrayed personally, and Harry would have laughed at him, but right now, he could only hope that his best friend would not fall back into his segregative and insulted childish attitude, that sulky mood he'd displayed occasionally in earlier years whenever Harry had done things he just had to do whether he himself had liked them or not, by that once more leaving him quite alone to deal with the hardship that was sure to come along – or, worse, even adding the burden of loss to that by this behaviour.

"Merlin, Ron, I don't like it anymore than you do, but I just have to… remember how Vol… how You-Know-Who baited me to come to the Ministry of Magic? It could happen again! The Headmaster says that there is no-one else who could teach me, not even himself, and I believe him! And I did trespass on Snape's privacy when I... I watched his memories last year. They were not of the happy sort."

"You never tell us..."

"Ron, you can't seriously expect me to share another person's memories that I've come by in a way that I'm not proud of at all, and have been punished for!"

Ron turned away, angered.

"Please.. Ron... don't leave me alone with all this... Not again… You are my best friend..."

Harry felt his heart drop.

Ron moved on, still insulted, but suddenly remembered the damage his sulking had done some years before when Harry really could not tell him what he had to bear. He blushed, turned, walked toward his friend, and said: "No, Harry, I will not. Not this time, and never again, I won't. I promise! I am sorry... But this is not easy for me either, not having you tell me what you are facing… You are my best friend too, remember? And… I say, Snape of all people! Just give me some time to digest this… please."

Harry was feeling very much relieved. He gave Ron a lopsided grin, and said: "You don't have to take the lessons, do you, so come off it!"

Not yet you have, he added in his mind, wondering where all this would take them.

Not much later, Hermione finally came back, quite out of breath.

"Lucky that I'm a Prefect now! Filch caught me right in front of the library, and had to let me go..."

Ron smiled at the thought.

"What did Dumbledore tell you?"

"Dumbledore... right, the Headmaster! I almost forgot at first, then went to see him after dinner, but he had no time then, and asked me to try again tomorrow afternoon. So I returned to the library. You know how Miss Pince does not mind having me around at all hours, so I forgot about the time completely... Sorry, guys!"

She smiled at them.

"We could have gone to bed early, you know," Ron said crossly.

"Come on, as if you had!" Hermione smiled, her good mood apparently indelible. "I am really tired now though... Is there anything important that I should know about? Else I'll go to sleep, if you don't mind."

When the boys shook their heads, slightly exasperated, she said "G'night!" and went up to the girl's dormitory, not waiting for a reply.

Ron and Harry looked after her. Both boys wondered when Hermione Granger had started to take things that seemed important so easy. But they considered that to be just as well, and went to bed too.


	8. A Homecoming

**8. A Homecoming**

A few days later, something very much out of the ordinary happened.

The Double Potions lesson had started out quietly, but it seemed that Professor Snape was out of luck lately. Apparently, he had forbidden his house all kinds of attacks on Gryffindors for the time being, probably as a punishment for their failure. But to make it not too easy for them either, the class had been appointed the brewing of a very tedious Potion that needed the repetition of complicated processes, and demanded a lot of attention. The lesson seemed to draw out unbearably, at least for the Gryffindors, when suddenly the door of the classroom banged open with a crash which seemed to be its usual way of admitting people that demanded admission unexpectedly, or of Snape himself.

The sixth-years started at the unexpected interruption, for which at least half of them were doubtlessly very grateful.

Standing in the doorway was someone who looked to have come a long way, and mostly on foot, dark Muggle clothes ripped and dirty.

When the tall and dark-haired visitor approached and stepped into a pool of yellowish light from the torches, those students familiar with the Muggle world could see that what the stranger was wearing might have been construction worker's gear at some point. It was paint-stained, rather used, and of a variety of shades of grey now.

From the visitor's left hand dangled heavy work-boots, tied together by their laces, and brought the class's attention to bare, blistered feet and, by that, to an amazing insensibility to the cold of the stone tiles of the dungeon floor.

These feet were elongated, narrow, very flat and short-toed, somehow looking not quite made for walking and, hence, probably very sore at the moment. Right now, they were also extremely dirty and scarred, and apparently bleeding in places; soiled like the clothes the visitor wore, like the matted hair, and the hands. Attempts at cleaning were visible, but had been rather futile and merely resulted in smearing grime about.

Someone in the front row where the Slytherins sat, started to snigger.

"Do we have Muggle slaves to do the dirty work now, instead of house elves? And are they not allowed any shoes or clean clothes, either? Why are they allowed in the castle at all then, muddy misers?"

"Severus!"

The name rang out through the classroom.

The sniggering stopped dead. The voice startled them all – it was low, hoarse and husky, but unmistakeably that of a woman, and this strange woman had just addressed the acerbic Potions Professor by his first name – an event unheard of!

Some students stared on open-mouthed. The manner of address bewildered everyone present except the intruder and the man thus addressed, who likely was more used to hearing it than they. Snape probably even thought of himself using it, while some of the students hardly could wrap their minds around the idea that the Potions master HAD a first name at all. They never thought of their austere Professor as being in possession of such a thing. It just did not fit the picture, even if they'd happened to have overheard other teachers addressing him thus on occasions.

Snape turned, facing the tall woman, but gave no sign of surprise or recognition. He strode toward her in his most menacing manner and stopped in some good distance.

"Silva," he acknowledged.

"I have to talk to you."

Snape looked the woman in front of him up and down, but oddly, there appeared to be neither sneer nor contempt in his attitude, as every student would have expected of him should ever a person dare to drop in on a lesson of his unannounced, and in a state of disarray like that. But then, this apparently was no stranger. Professor Snape's attitude was one of quiet, rather disinterested appraisal or assessment, much like a that of a doctor's, of the victim of an accident.

"Is there any chance of leaving my lesson be and waiting, till time's up? Of cleaning up meanwhile, maybe, and getting those feet dressed in the hospital wing?"

He did not ever address her directly nor use her name again.

"No. Now."

There was neither embarrassment nor sympathy in the attitude of either of them, nor were excuses ventured on the woman's side.

The woman apparently named Silva made a step forward as if to touch the Potions Professor's sleeve, and by that came to stand in the full mock daylight of one of the dungeon's high-up windows.

When she straightened her back to look up into the face of the Potions Professor opposite her, a kind of collective gasp seemed to escape the class, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, so very strongly did the Professor and the dishevelled woman looked like each other.

Both were pale, but with her, this looked rather natural. Her nose was much smaller, yet no less beaky than his; in that woman's face, it gave her a benevolent if stubborn air, a bit like that of a friendly owl. Slightly arrogant, too, maybe...

Apparently, she had tried to clean her face, too – there were some faint smudges of dirt on her cheeks, but generally, she had succeeded there.

Dark, pale, witchy, and quite good looking... This was something none of them, not even the most adorant Slytherin, would have been able to reconcile in anyone bearing even the faintest likeness to Severus Snape...

The Professor and the visitor wore their hair in a similar fashion and length. The woman's was as straight, but a bit lighter than his, unless the layers of dirt and dust were confounding the impression. Her eyes were lighter, too, a kind of flecked hazel if the dungeon dimness could be trusted. They had the same wide mouth, but hers was a little less tight-lipped and bitter, no creases, yet faint lines showing.

Something about her made the students gape.

Snape's neutral attitude on taking in the appearance of this woman, who must surely be a close relative of his, seemed all the more amazing as, in the stronger light, the outfit she wore looked worse than that of a beggar: baggy grey army-type below-the-knees that might originally have been of another colour, with densely crammed cargo pockets, and a rather large shredded sweat shirt with the logo of a construction company, sagging in every direction, and cut off at all openings, on top a tee of indefinite colour. Everything the tall woman wore was stained with old grease or dirt. It also had at some point been spattered with paint of different colours. The material seemed soaked, probably with sweat, and looked like nicked from a roadside ditch after an accident.

Yet even with the lines of exhaustion in the woman'sface, and her generally dishevelled appearance, she exuded willpower. There was a hint of desperation, too, in her attitude.

Professor Snape was very likely annoyed at this person's appearance. From anybody else, one would expect polite questions as to the stranger's health, and an offer to use the bathroom to clean up a bit. There might have been a welcome, even. The Professor though, with a short nod towards the door, brushed past her, abruptly as ever, and headed out. The woman, turning on her bare heels in a swift movement familiar to all present, followed suit.

The door slammed shut.

Whispers started instantaneously, mostly stating the obvious, as gossip goes.

"They are relatives! Must be his sister... or cousin?"

"But a lot younger, no?"

"Wow, who'd thought that Snape had relatives at all – poor woman... Silva Snape, that would be, then?"

"I bet that's a cousin... Snape can't possibly have a sister or something, honestly! He probably hasn't even got parents, that's what I think!"

Sniggers.

"Maybe that's his aunt. See, as aunts and uncles can even be younger than yourself..."

"Oh, shut it!"

Laughter went up, the noise level was rising. The commotion was mainly on the Gryffindor side of the room, the Slytherins apparently being paralysed or in a state of shock, brought about by the unexpected news about their head of house.

"But that would still mean he'd have a brother or sister... "

"Urgh!"

"And why can't she be his niece then, you prat?"

More laughter. No-one was bothering to whisper any more.

Much the same had, with Snape in his third year only, been the words and thoughts of his schoolmates, when the girl Silva was called forward for the Sorting, many years ago...

"A bit more round in the face, not quite as pale..."

"It only looks better on her!"

"No big deal, that!"

"Freckles, did you notice? Snape with freckles!" That was Ron, still whispering. But he was heard no less. Giggling ensued.

"You're kidding! That was the lights! Dirt, that was!" protested Seamus, who seemingly feared having anything in common with a Snape.

The agitation and laughter in the room were constantly growing.

"She's tall, did you see, almost as tall as him! Good-looking..."

"Iieeeh! You can't be serious! Come off it!"

"She's about half a head shorter than him!"

"But you know, that still makes her tall. And she DOES look good!"

"A good-looking Snape... I do believe this is a memorable day..."

"You know, to be honest, I think he himself..."

"DON'T even THINK that!"

"Could she possibly have been in Slytherin, too?"

"Brrrh, but do wash her first – she's dirty like – like a Muggle road worker! The stuff she wears looks like she came here on foot through a mud in a rain, and had to run all the way! Like she slept in those clothes for three days in roadside ditches!"

That was Pansy. This assessment was, if rather off-hand even for a guess, a fairly precise assessment of how said woman had spent her previous days.

"She IS good-looking. She is..."

"And what if she's his daughter?"

"Merlin, STOP IT! You are giving me images I won't get rid of in months!"

Not that anyone cared.

"No, too old for that all right, don't you think?"

"I don't' know... you're right, probably..."

"But she should bathe and get some decent clothes... "

"You said that before, Malfoy, and I do think she will, rather sooner than later! You don't really believe that anyone'd prefer to run around like that, do you, seriously? Maybe you yourself would, though, and it's only your headperson forcing you to wash every day?"

"I'll wash your mouth right now..."

Someone got up, starting to approach the other house's tables, but was pulled back to his seat by a friend.

"Wait till we see her again, you'll see for yourself!"

"Two or three years his junior, don't you think?"

"More! She might be his daughter, after all!"

Seemingly, this only hit home fully now.

"OOOOOOOH NOOOOOHH!" Shrieks from the girls, even the Slytherins.

"Don't you dare to ever say that again!"

"Come on, she must be ten years younger than him, at least! A hundred years! He's so OLD!"

Harry silently agreed with Ron and all the others, going on about the interruption, and the likelihood of that woman being Snape's sister, but didn't really bother to become involved in the debate. It was pretty amusing, though.

But then, the things Dumbledore had let him see with the help of the Pensieve had shown Harry a different man, who had not been scowling and glowering all of the time, and hard, besides being younger, and apparently so very different in general. Before, he had never thought that someone bearing any likeness to Snape's face could look good at all. Hence, there might be other things that were not known about Snape - yet.

The woman called Silva had not had any of the Potions master's rigidity about her, but moved fluidly, regardless of exhaustion

What urgent message might she bear that would get Snape to leave the room instantly, though?

All of a sudden, Harry was absolutely sure, much to his own surprise, that he had seen this woman before, but he was positive that it had not been in the Pensieve whenever he'd looked into it. In the cemetery, with Voldemort? No, not her! And it had been nice, good for him… Maybe at the Quidditch World Cup? Maybe there, too, in passing, but that was not it. Long before that... more often... Quite some time ago, it must have been... And he was sure it had been a positive encounter. The memory refused to become clear, but it did feel good. Surely, her likeness with Snape confused his memory.

The students jumped in their seats when the door slammed again, and their teacher was back – in his foulest mood ever.

Snape's robes were swirling behind him, and the icy anger he exuded made them fear the worst for what was left of the lesson. Luckily, there were only a good twenty minutes to go.

He snarled: "Silence! As you will have spent the time I had to leave you unattended wisely by preparing the appointment for today, your doubtlessly failed potions should be ready for testing in ten minutes. Gryffindor first!"

Now this was unjust, just like him!

With relief, Snape noticed that the brats at least had not demolished the classroom, either in fight, or in failure. Even Longbottom's cauldron was still in position and did not look as if about to leave it of itself in any direction.

The students cowered appropriately over their cauldrons and beakers at this address, and tried to concentrate on their preparations. Most had of course not used the time of his absence to continue brewing in the concentrated manner necessary, except for that Granger girl, and even she had been perturbed by the gossip and banter.

The Professor noted with some contentment that time was running dangerously short for everybody. The outcome would likely be house-points deduced and a generous hand-out of detentions... for Gryffindor alone, as usual.

The next thing that happened was, though, the brooding and tense atmosphere of the lesson being interrupted again, this time by Peeves who drifted through the closed door crooning a song obviously mocking the Professor's visitor to the ugly little melody of mocking that children sing nyah-nyah-nyah to:

Oooh, little Miss Snape,

pretty white nape,

cries for her brother

who doesn't love her!

Has run away...

But the poltergeist didn't get any further than that, or at all close to the student's tables. The Professor had his wand out like lightning and conjured up something like a pale phosphorescent net that hurled itself at the poltergeist. Peeves, laughing maniacally, rushed out through the door which, a split second later, once more banged open for the Potions master, now chasing the poltergeist, and slammed shut again, leaving the class to itself again.

The students started to laugh and talk, more carefree this time. This lesson was not that bad – not boring for once, to be sure.

When the Professor returned this time, he was comparatively relaxed, but seemed to be brooding and distracted. Snape did not bother to bid them silence, but demanded their potions to be turned in right away, regardless of their state. He 6dismissed them plainly and did not set them homework.

This was an event unheard of in all the years of his teaching and generated sounds of surprise and amazement from various parts of the room.

Snape corrected himself instantaneously: "Three feet on the interaction of the Calamus and Dragonwort, or Bistort, roots, – you'll need that knowledge for Friday's brewing, so you better not forget. Class dismissed!"

This was moderate by the Potions Professor's standards. There was a Potions class before Friday. Ron groaned no less. Another amazing point was that there were about ten minutes left to the end of class. The Gryffindors in particular stumbled out of the room as fast as they could, in fear that the Professor might notice and call them back, or being given the extra homework they got from Snape all the time on account of their being 'utter dunderheads with no talent for Potions at all'.

Considering their Professor, Hermione said: "Snape almost gave away what we'll brew next Friday, and that it'll be dangerous not to pay attention to this homework. He even mentioned another name for that dragonroot plant! Now he might have done that for the Slytherins, but never for us! I think he really must be upset. Wonder what this Silva woman... what she's here for?"

Ron said: "I wonder if she's really his relative. I can't believe it!"

Harry had nothing to say to that, wondering vaguely what effect the events might have on Snape's mood.

He was racking his brain to find out where he'd seen the woman before.


	9. Potter Succeeds

**9. Potter Succeeds**

The friends left the dungeons after that remarkable potions lesson, hurrying to get away like the other Gryffindors, in fear of yet being called back and given assignments as an afterthought. No lost points, and no homework to finish before the next Double Potions lesson! A day to mark!

Hermione said she wanted to go to the library. This had been their last lesson before noon, and they'd been let off early too, so there was some spare time until lunch. She parted from her friends at the head of the Dungeons staircase.

Ron and Harry crossed the Entrance Hall to the doors of the Great Hall rather slowly. This was on Harry's account. He seemed to be dragging his feet in hesitation, as if being drawn back to the dungeons.

Harry had given up on wondering how he could imagine to know Snape's sister or whatever relative of his the strange woman surely must be, and his talks with the Headmaster came back to him.

When they were about half ways to the Great Hall, Ron tugged at his sleeve: "Come on now! I am hungry! There's no-one in there to attack you! You're supposed to attack them!"

"Well, yes..."

When Harry's reaction to this attempt at a joke were nil and his friend only turned around, away from the hall, Ron added: "Forgot something in the dungeons, Harry? Just don't bother to tell me!"

Harry did not react immediately, but slowed down some more still.

"Well, yes, I sort of did... I think I should... Sorry, Ron."

Ron said: "You can always get your stuff later! Let's eat now!"

Then, trying to change the subject, he nudged his friend and asked: "Harry, you and Hermione are kidding about Snape and that Dark Arts thing, aren't you?"

This pretty much hit the mark of Harry's pondering, and made him stop altogether. He did not answer. This was something he really had to do, and soon.

Finally, he said: "Ron, I am sorry – I did indeed forget something... I think I have go back and speak to Snape right away – this is so very important... No, I don't think we are kidding. Until I saw Hermione's reaction to my question the other day, I thought I was just being mental!"

"And you sure are, both of you!"

"Oh, Ron, but do think it over! I know I am right, and I hate it, too, but hating the facts does not change them a bit! It all makes sense that way! And don't tell anyone please, will you? Might get it done just as well right now, his distraction might be a help... See you later!"

Ron nodded his assent slowly, mouth agape, but Harry did not even notice. He had turned back toward the dungeons already, not hurrying at all.

Ron stared after Harry, shaking his head. His two best friends were both out of their tiny minds!

For an instant, he wondered whether he should run along with Harry to provide moral support, but eventually decided that he was really hungry, and if Harry absolutely had to get himself in trouble with Snape, he might as well stay out of it for the time being, and offer commiseration later. Ron resumed his approach to food and entered the Great Hall.

Thus, a redhead very much lost in thought sat at the Gryffindor table rather early and all by himself, and for once did neither notice nor respond to the sneering from the Slytherin table when they arrived; or to comments directed at him about that weird interruption of today's Potions lesson, or rumours who that woman really was, or about the uniqueness of having no pressing Potions homework to do, from his housemates. Hermione was not back from the library yet, so he just ate slowly, in silence, occasionally glaring at Ginny and her boyfriend at the other end of the Gryffindor table. They were another bother!

Malfoy called over: "Lost your appetite, Weasel? You better eat something now – you don't know if and where you'll find food again once you go home for holidays, do you?"

Ron didn't even hear him, so absorbed was he in his thoughts about Harry, and all the things that seemed to go wrong at the moment. Fred and George, for instance... Events seemed to take a strange turn lately, and he had a feeling that there were more surprises to come.

The dungeon classroom door was open. Once he was some steps inside, Harry could see his Professor seated at his desk with his back to him. The scratch of a quill could be heard at intervals. Nothing about the place hinted at the unusual events of the day. He approached the desk, still hesitating.

"Professor Snape..."

Snape wrote on for a while, ignoring Harry, but eventually he did look up.

"What is it, Potter? Trying to waste my time again? Or are you going to insult me for a change?"

Harry was not to be put off that easily this time.

"Professor Snape... I do want to apologise for... for... Sir."

Snape stared at him coldly and unblinking for quite a while, probing for his intentions. Harry did not like the mental intrusion at all, but patiently allowed the inspection. He felt rather weary of their quarrels. Harry held his teacher's gaze – and, after a moment, bid Snape enter his mind.

Harry had carefully rehearsed this, knowing he'd have to put forward something to his own favour after that initial failure, and show honest attempts at clearing his mind, too. So, he'd tidily imagined a long, rather empty corridor, like one of those on the upper floors of Hogwarts which were hardly used – and sort of let flow from his heart his apology, and a feeling of regret which was indeed there, its honesty surprising himself, about his inconsiderate action concerning the abuse of the Pensieve – and that event alone.

What he could not have imagined was what it felt like if someone, at one's own will and bidding, and while one was fully aware of it, entered the mind after it had been opened up for precisely that purpose. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant: a cool touch, a slight drain to the willpower…

Snape's movements within his head were gentle, and it felt to be a curious kind of intimacy, not altogether uncomfortable. Was his hated teacher being kind with him?

With a sting, Harry felt reminded of the Imperius Curse, and what that had felt like before he managed to shake it off during the false Moody's lessons: the odd comfort of not being responsible, and not having to care at all. But there was no force whatsoever behind that here, and it was weaker by far. This was another question, but he would not be distracted by the thought now: had he really been able to shake that curse off at the time?

He could feel Snape's being in on these new thoughts since they were unguarded, and the man's surprise at all of this. Moreover, he could feel his Professor looking around carefully within the images he had been offered, and even making an effort not to trespass beyond what had been set up for him.

After a while, he thought he perceived a very fleeting glimpse of the amazing agate-green colour he had seen in the eyes of a younger Snape in the Pensieve only recently, and after that, Snape leaving his mind-corridor - with a very tiny bow!

Then, there was nothing. That final perception could not possibly have been real, he must have imagined it. Not wishful thinking, either – beginning insanity, maybe?

With a jolt, Harry understood that he, in this one moment of overcoming his aversions and trying to make good, had learned more about the whole matter of Occlumency and Legilmency than in all the forced lessons combined so far.

Snape made a rasping noise.

"It is well, Potter. You may leave."

Harry turned, slow and obedient. He felt sheep-like, but that was not altogether uncomfortable. It also had been much easier than he'd thought, but Harry could not bring himself to voice what he knew he should, right away. Unable to ask that which he had come here to request in disregard of how much he himself disliked it, he left.

On this way back to the common room, Harry realised he felt exhausted like from a long run.

But weird enough, this had worked. Snape had not been friendly, but he had accepted the apology. Harry just knew, the masterful man needed not say so.

Harry was a tiny bit proud of himself. Not only had he done it again, and really soon – he even had very likely succeeded where he'd been sure any thought of progress was illusionary...

And run he did, to catch some lunch at last.

He was not all that late, and found Ron completely lost in thought.

His friend did not even ask if he was ok.

After lunch, when the Gryffindors were on their way to Quidditch practice, a seventh year Ravenclaw student called out to them.

"Potter – the Headmaster wants to see you after practice!"

"Oh, right, thank you!"

Harry had not expected to see the Headmaster today, but that was probably just as well. Fleetingly, he wondered if it had to do with that Silva woman. He pushed the thought aside, but wondered if he would see her again, or soon.


	10. Two Reports

**10. Two Reports**

After her brother had returned to his classroom for the second time, cursing under his breath, Silva Snape wearily made her way back to the Entrance Hall, distracted by her very own thoughts and premonitions.

From there, she tried to plot her way to the gargoyle that she remembered to be in charge of admission to the Headmaster's office, and did find it without any trouble. This was odd, even though it was not all that long ago that Silva had been here last. The location of the office, as well as the password, seemed to change frequently these days – or the paths there, depending on how you looked at it. If one lived in the old castle, most of this probably got by unnoticed, unless one had to see the Headmaster on a daily basis, because it happened only gradually. Outside visitors were confounded, which was just the purpose.

Silva did not have to wait either until some gentle soul would tell her the password of the day, or let her in. Albus Dumbledore was standing in the opening, right in front of the staircase, flanked by the gargoyles and smiling at her radiantly.

The old man was, for some reason, not merely happy, but very relieved indeed to see her. He would have heard the rumours, surely…

"Silva, welcome, welcome – how good it is to have you here again! And this time to pick up your wand again, I believe – I dare hope? Dear, you do look as if urgent news were propelling you... come with me. Do you wish to take a bath first – or to speak?"

"To speak, Albus, definitely," she said, feeling worn-out, when they mounted the moving staircase. Yet she had to smile up at the old wizard at this reception, feeling relief already and heart-warmed as always, if unexpectedly so, this time. She had hoped for this, but not known for sure. Her brother's ways...

"No bath right now, I do feel strong and pure, for a – well, good, reason that you'll come to know soon enough if you haven't gathered it already, considering your appearing to be on a look-out for me..."

They smiled at each other fondly.

"Right now, these dirty Muggle rags don't bother me as much as they did an hour ago. But eventually, soon, I do want them off...

Once in the office, Albus Dumbledore conjured a comfortable armchair for his visitor, to stand in front of his bureau. He motioned Silva to sit, and poured her some wine – heavy and red, like blood. There was a pile of different kinds of chocolate, too, on a silver plate.

Silva smiled at him gratefully. Seeing the old Headmaster always felt like a homecoming. She looked about the ancient, strange room.

"It might be early, but you seem to need some treat... So, what tidings bring you here?"

Silva was still standing, about to answer, when something golden and fiery hit her with a blissful trill and made her sway – Fawkes, in his full splendour, tried to wrap himself around her, claws, huge wingspan, and all, and she had to embrace him to prevent tumbling over with the weight of the great bird.

Dumbledore laughed.

"He's not forgotten you either, and he is convinced you will stay this time, see? He missed you."

"At least someone did," Silva mumbled, carefully untangling herself from brilliant feathers and helping the beautiful bird to climb up on her shoulder where he perched, making delighted little noises. She was running her fingers tenderly through the fine feathers on his neck.

"So did I," said Dumbledore, but Silva preferred either to ignore that, or had not heard it.

Regardless of the Phoenix's blessed presence and show of affection, the feeling of being injured by her brother's treatment took over Silva's mood again.

"Albus... YOU will talk to me, to my face, and address me as a person..."

"He still won't?"

"No... Well, he did choose to remember my name upon my crashing his class, which can only be owed to well-contained surprise, but the contempt he oozed, till the moment I left...! You know this absolutely neutral manner of scanning and appraisal of his when he feels real contempt, and it matters to him personally...? He looked me up and down… It's not like I prefer to dress like this! It was far worse than anything I did remember, too… I knew then why I'd never gone to see Severus, all these years. As if he's showing disregard for a life form as such... If a life form I was, there in front of him, at all. That scrutiny makes one feel as if one was something that should be removed right away and by any means necessary... Something no cat of self-esteem would ever bother to drag in, no good to be used in any potion, but probably spoiling any of them, something not even loathsome, just one thing too much around..."

The young woman in front of the Headmaster hung her head.

"I can't really put it in words ... If he'd bottle that look, it'd be close in effect to the Kedavra, or strychnine, or..."

Silva's voice trailed off. There was a pause.

"Oh, but you surely are as eloquent as ever, dear... Very adequately descriptive..."

Dumbledore, while sounding jocular, observed Silva with calm compassion, half-expecting her to start to cry. He had seen that look of his Professor work on others, and men of standing fold in because of it. He was quite sure that none of the students, not even Harry Potter, had experienced that particular look. The Potions Professor apparently spared it for occasions that really mattered to him personally. It was likely to kill underage youngsters, anyway...

The Headmaster did not want to get into a discussion of his Potions master's moods and demeanour any further now, though.

"How is it with the Muggles?"

Silva looked up again, eyes dry to his relief, and seemed happy about the change of subject.

"Oh, fine, really. You know I am... was... working as a carpenter and painter, some decorating, too, things like that... construction finishing work..."

"WAS working...? So, Fawkes is right?"

Silva seemed to ignore the question.

"I've become really good at it, too. If Argus Filch ever thinks to resign, think of me, will you?"

Albus Dumbledore had to smile at that, but grew serious again. He would not let her drop the subject.

"I will, dear... Am I supposed to take this as an application? So you DO choose to come back, finally – I am very happy to hear that. I was very worried about the rumours that reached me, lately…

"Silva, you know I never understood it. Why in the world did you forsake your wand, why did you give up the Gift? That was absolutely unnecessary! Severus was one person to need you about, he really did, and does still. No-one could ever crack his shell after Idane had gone. You know him inside out, you were then and are now the only one to relieve his loneliness.

"Others needed you, too... You were to be a Prefect, and you would very likely have become head girl eventually..."

"Head girl, who cares, Albus, honestly? We did then, and do have again today, other kinds of trouble..."

Albus pondered where he had heard that before.

"That's why it would have been you, Silva. Because you could see it for what it is worth, and act upon the analysis accordingly."

The old wizard smiled at her, but she was not in the mood to be soothed, or to be pumped for personal information and insights by gentle complimenting.

Some of the energy of today's events still was with her. Silva interrupted the Hogwarts Headmaster's reminiscing.

She seemed to consider several answers, then said: "Let me report, Albus. That is, after all, what I came to see you about, besides the need for some kindness...

"As I did tell my very dear brother before, I met Lucius Malfoy on my way here. He made passes at me, regardless of my outfit, like in the old times. Well, I did not look quite that messy then… He said, however, that the Dark Lord is not entirely content with Severus's performance lately, and intends to test him, which may or may not be true. My brother might need – or might not, if your perceptions about his loyalties are true – some corroboration with his Dark master...

"I did not pretend to be interested, and never mentioned that I was set to meet Severus – I wasn't, too, then. Lucius knows very well that Severus and I are not on speaking terms. But I do believe he was quite sure that I was headed for Hogwarts. He might have made the connection... In any case, he is sure to report to his master that I have been spotted in the wizarding world alive, and presumably was heading here. I cannot imagine though that Malfoy will be in on the idea that I might report to you personally and in detail, or that I might come back for good... I'm not happy to have been discovered that early on, but on the other hand, this way we know for sure that any old owl will know very soon."

The old wizard was smiling brightly at the young former witch, quite disconnectedly.

Finally, Silva could not keep a straight face anymore, regardless of her tidings. She was so very happy to be back! This welcome was so much better than what she'd hoped for! After all, Dumbledore might still have needed her as a spy with the Muggles…

"For good, Albus, yes. Fawkes is right of course, as always."

Dumbledore did raise an eyebrow to that, but did not speak.

Silva stroked the gold-and-red plumage tenderly.

"Lucius might have had the idea that I'd let Severus know – else why should he tell me things like that? –, speaking terms or not, that I'd take care to somehow let my brother know, which I did, too, if an abridged version, to alert him to the need to report my return to Voldemort as soon as possible. Lucius did not seem to refer to any distrust on his master's side, though. This might have been an honest attempt at warning, as far as Lucius is ever honest. If that is so, Malfoy might still be considered a friend of Severus's… At least, my dear brother was definitely surprised, or annoyed rather, when I told him that Lucius had approached me right after re-entering the wizard realm. Which I was, too, and probably for much the same reason, which would be my being watched. This may have been some kind of service of Lucius's to an old mate, but you will understand why I doubt that that's the only purpose...

"Has Lucius Malfoy been acquitted yet? That's sure to happen, isn't it, Albus? The man always falls onto his feet…"

Dumbledore nodded once.

"Lucius Malfoy has been released on probation after his involvement in… what was termed a 'mysterious incident in the Ministry of Magic's Unspeakables Department by the Daily Prophet."

"A-ha", made Silva.

"His acquittal is impending, regardless of the rumours and whatever the Ministerial reasons may be, but he has not been cleared of all charges yet and, hence, is in some sort of hiding, mainly from curious questions."

Silva pondered this information.

"Hm. I can't image that he'd jeopardize his acquittal by running away now, but once he's free to go again wherever he pleases…"

"Now why should you say that?" asked the Headmaster, a bit surprised.

The woman ignored him, lost in her thoughts. After a while, she said:

"It is to be expected... A bad thing…"

They both fell silent for some time. The Headmaster did not prod her to explain her mysterious remark, being sure that she'd tell him eventually.

After a while, Silva spoke up again.

"Albus, I cannot read my brother anymore now... He has closed himself up... This has all gone bitter..."

She composed herself.

"To answer your question, I got the impression that Lucius was on his way to escape to the Muggle world. Malfoy, of all people! He wanted to know all kinds of things about how Muggles live... I dare not think what kind of havoc he might wreak there..."

"This is what I heard: the Dementors defected, and all the prisoners and Dark wizards ran from Azkaban. Lucius escaped then, too, after having been convicted after a mysterious, but very violent, incident in the no-go section of the Ministry in the first place, and would have to hide, which would not be easy for him within the wizard world, being as well known as he is. And, within the Muggle world, he could render his lord all kinds of services...

it seems that regardless of the fact that he left Azkaban on his own, instead of waiting for Officials to arrive, Malfoy managed to make Fudge believe that he had only acted for the good of all, and that the Minister is very much inclined to believe that, too. That would mean that Lucius's not quite on the run.

I also heard that his flight could not impede his application to be acquitted of any charges concerning that mysterious fight at the Ministry."

"As usually, your information is quite accurate, Silva, except that he did not flee.

"A Malfoy never does. He can be sure, it appears, of things to come his way… No, Lucius was released on remand by the Ministry, on the pretext of having changed sides – once more. This was mere hours only before the mass breakout happened. At least that is the official line on his release.

"Lucius claims that he was fighting Voldemort's agents in the Department of Mysteries with us, that Sirius Black was with them, and that I had dragged some school kids into the fight. His blatancy is incredible! Lucius enjoyed rubbing it in. Luckily, we could cover up the presence of any students but Potter there…

"I won't forget Malfoy's sneer when he accused me of neglect of my duties, and rightly so for once. He claimed that I came in too late, being only just able to limit the damage done – which would have been far greater had it not been for his presence of mind. All of which would have been the Ministry's job anyway. He's right there, too, of course, regardless of the fact that he did everything he could to prevent them from doing their duty. I wasn't then, and am not now, in any position to refute his accusations, or set things right, which is bad.

"As to the other Death Eaters, they seem to have agreed to go with his story. They are escaped convicts, too, so there is no trouble there – safe the fact that very likely, with the Dementors being an insecure ally of the Ministry and wizardkind in general at best, there is no place to safely hold them now...

"Lucius even claimed to have killed Black himself."

The air around them seemed to curdle suddenly.

Silva gasped, then blurted out: "Killed Sirius Black…? Are you saying that…"

"Oh dear! You did not know then, Silva?"

Wide-eyed, the young witch stared at the old wizard, slowly shaking her head.

"Tell, me, Albus! Now!"

Albus Dumbledore held her eyes, and an infinitely sad look was in his own.

"I'm so sorry, Silva... I thought you knew… This was crude!"

Silva motioned him to continue, impatiently. Albus obliged her hurriedly, not enjoying the situation at all.

"Flatly, in that incident in the Ministry, Sirius Black was killed in the course of a duel with his cousin Bellatrix.**"**

"That mean, wicked bitch! So he survived hell, only to be killed by her? I can't believe it!"

Silva's voice was hoarse, about to crack.

"If I ever wanted to see a bitch dead, it was her! I rejoiced when I heard she was sent to Azkaban!

"Oh, Sirius… That crazy old bastard… I don't understand..."

There were tears in Silva's eyes, then on her cheeks, suddenly. She swallowed.

"You told me that he eventually convinced you of his innocence in the killing of all those Muggles and Peter Pettigrew, and that finally even my bro had to see the light of reason there... You know I never believed he'd do something so vile anyway... But he still had to hide … You said there was no chance yet of clearing his name…"

"Sirius was not to be stopped when he heard that his godson was engaged in another fight with Lord Voldemort. His death was more of an accident, just Bellatrix's sort of luck, my dear."

Silva really was crying at that.

"That mean, nasty… Oh, it does not matter, he's gone. Sirius dead! He just was someone I would really, really have wanted to meet again... But this is merely what was to be expected, him being most careless and incapable of any kind of self-restriction or patience..."

She smiled under her tears, recalling memories of that young, brilliant, handsome, and completely irresponsible, offspring of her family's worst enemies. Not much of a wizard, but a true warlock…

Drinkling their wine, red as blood, they were silent for a long time.

When Silva had composed herself, Dumbledore said: "The Ministry of Magic follows Lucius's tale and has it, officially, that Sirius was with the Death Eaters matter of course. He was a convicted criminal He'd escaped from Azkaban, some of the others involved in the fight had, too. So what is more likely than his assisting them? You know we never managed to get hold of Peter Pettigrew, which would be the only evidence sufficient to obtain Sirius's acquittal... PP has not been caught nor seen yet by anyone but Harry and his friends, Remus, and the DE, so there's no proof of Sirius's innocence, or that Black was trying to protect Harry Potter.

"I have no handle to set any of that right, which really hurts, and all of this will very likely lead to much pain for Harry when, eventually, I have tell him the whole story of the conflict between your brother and Black. He's likely to rage at me, and at Severus, and I can only hope this won't break him.

"The only good thing in all this is that your brother was finally convinced of Sirius's innocence, and that they did shake hands at some point, if **on **my order... it should take some small weight off Severus's shoulder now, that, even if he'll never admit as much."

There was a long pause.

"Albus – this is really bad news..."

She wiped her eyes.

"Yes, Silva, that it is indeed."

The witch and the wizard sat pondering events for some time.

"Why do you have to tell Harry about my brother's wretched life anyway?"

"He has to know why I trust Severus. Last year, I tried to force those two to come together by having your brother teach Harry Occlumency, and it was a complete disaster… went spectacularly wrong, really."

"Oh Albus, I could have told you that! Anyone could have! Severus hates anything Potter!"

"Silva, Harry HAS GOT to learn to protect his mind. While" – the old Headmaster grinned – it won't hurt your brother a bit to control his temper once in a while, don't you think?"

Albus Dumbledore grew serious again.

"During the fight in the Ministry, it became apparent that Voldemort can control Harry, possess him even, while they are in the same room, at the very least. The boy had been having strange dreams about becoming a snake, and about sneaking down corridors – for months, as it seems. He alerted us to an attack on Arthur, by that enabling us to save his life, and Harry had the idea that he himself had attacked him… in his dream… in the form of that snake…"

Silva gasped.

"That huge snake seems to be Lord Voldemort's familiar. The incident was what let the Dark Lord become aware of the connection between them. He then made use of it to lure Harry into the Ministry of Magic by sending images of Sirius's capture and torture there to him. The boy had no means of checking with his godfather to make sure he was alright… He even broke into the Defence against the Dark Arts Teacher's office to try, without success…

"Harry never came to see me and tell me about things, and that was all my fault. When he was in my presence, in the moment there was eye contact, the murderous desire of that snake, i.e. Voldemort's will, made him almost leap on me, and that already happened before Voldemort became aware of the connection… I felt this, of course, and refused to talk to the boy for fear of strengthening this connection, but never bothered to let him know why I did what I did. I betrayed his trust, expecting him to act in a self-controlled manner that most grown-ups won't manage…"

"You gave him no reasons for your actions?"

"No… I had no idea how much he depended on my sympathy, and there was no time really to write long letters of explanation, what with protecting the Prophecy, having that Umbridge woman teach here, Fudge's fussing, and my removal from the Wizengamot and other positions where I still might have had some influence on the turn of events… That's just to name a few things, mind you. Harry appeared to be such a small cogwheel there, and he has his friends…"

"Oh Albus!"

"Yes, Silva. It was my fault entirely. I misjudged the situation, and failed Harry utterly. They are strong. And I cannot let Harry Potter off now, even if I gave him all the reasons for my course of action. He MUST learn Occlumency, or be a peril to everyone – himself, the Order, his friends… He must learn to trust your brother. You could help out there, I believe...

"They will have to fight side by side – soon, and closely, too. No-one needs a crystal ball to predict that. Severus is the only one who can bring Harry Potter close to Tom Riddle – this side of allowing Harry to be captured again."

Silva looked at the old wizard with some bitterness.

"So that is why you greet my return so enthusiastically – a helping hand to make good, doing repair jobs on miscalculations you made, trying to undo mistakes that were so very unnecessary… You are still moving people about like pieces of chess!"

Dumbledore sighed deeply.

"Harry thinks so, too… So, you have not forgiven me either, have you? Like your brother, like young Harry…"

The Headmaster had looked very old, weary, and tired, when he said that, but suddenly, this demeanour was gone in a flash, and a formidable wizard, eyes blazing, was facing Silva who shrunk back in amazement.

"I know I've blundered, and am likely to commit more blunders in whatever time I have left here. Only refraining from doing anything at all could help that! But action has to be taken, and I will stand for my decisions, and meet them in full, conscious, responsibility! No-one else is willing or able to act; no-one knows as much about the things going on as I do! Fudge is a ninny, and all the others are still half-disbelieving of Voldemort's return, and none of them sure what to do. I do know that I can be blamed for the death of more than one, Silva! I am likely to cause more pain, too. Would you have me look on, waiting until the damage is done? You might face your last hour in the course of events, and soon! You are free to not join the fight yet!"

Silva merely shook her head in awe.

The wizard who was radiating power before her became the kindly old man with a long white beard once more.

"See, Silva – I might be in a leading position, but I am no deity, I am fallible, and hence my judgement is a fault occasionally… Some mistakes even turn out for the better... All I can do is ask you, Silva, to please try and consider what would be if I had not taken the responsibility to act, for this fight, on me so many years ago. I did not ask for it – and you know that, as opposed to Fudge!"

"You mean I ran away, cowardly, then," Silva stated flatly, with some coldness.

Albus faced her squarely, and eventually nodded, eyes dim with sorrow.

Silva felt her throat close as if she was about to cry, but realised that the thing clenching at her heart was fear.

After some moments, the old wizard said: "Will you help me? Will you try to comfort the boy like you have before?"

"Of course, sir... for now though, I could do with some comfort myself..."

Fawkes, on her shoulder, trilled, soothing her. His softly-feathered cheek rubbed hers, his wings were covering her shoulders like they were hers for an instant, and the bliss of that made her smile regardless.

After some moments of stroking the magnificent bird-creature and staring into the flames of Dumbledore's fireplace, Silva continued, her voice thick with unshed tears at first, but becoming increasingly serene and distant with the task of reporting her observations and suspicions.

"Let me continue where we broke off, and tell why I think Lucius might eventually go to the Muggles anyway, might even prefer what would look like flight to acquittal. That would make no difference anyway as soon as Voldemort had won this war, surely.

"Some of his questions pointed to such a turn of his. As you surely will be aware, there are those among the Muggles who consider themselves magical, and some of those prefer to worship the demons of their respective religions, attempting to conjure them up, usually trying to quell negative forces, or to make good.

"I have come to know about such groups. They call themselves orders or lodges and believe they are practicing magic. Honestly, I would not know about the truth in such things, Albus, but I don't think there is anything beyond mental exertion there. What I do know is that such beliefs exist.

"The common view is that what they call Magic works much like an act of concentration on their true aims, and achieving them, or to remove obstacles of thought. That is not all that different from the way we do things, but normally, Muggles do not get far. Occasionally, they manage to confront their innermost self, in the form of what they call an 'exteriorised presence', or some such thing, which can be so impressive that they are changed for life. Usually, nothing much of consequence beyond the personal comes from all that. Yet occasionally, it gets to be political, not necessarily in a bad way, but so far, it is still a fairly normal mode of action for them.

Some of them seriously work with those things, with their minds and perceptions, and on themselves, trying to understand what the world and life are, but there are a lot about who would rather take the easy way, achieve aims without working for them, and are lusting for power. They need sense, and if they don't find any, often take to desperate and cruel measures to create it.

"Neither of them have such energies as wizards do, hence a wand does nothing for them even if they use one. Where it is a means of focussing energy with wizards, it is, with them, mostly a symbol within a rite – of the element of fire, or of the phallus, of virility, and male fertility – of the power of procreation, in short, and the power to enforce it. A wand is supposed to concentrate such energies, but it does not work for them like it does for us."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Very concise. I am well aware of that."

"Sorry to lecture, Albus, but I am getting to the point.

"You will remember my mentioning such folk rather in passing, last time I reported. You do of course remember the Witch Hunts – the things Muggles did, and do to each other, mainly – not only in persecution of damage done, but also, what leads to that in the first place..."

Dumbledore nodded again, patiently.

"Now here comes the twist: of course it would not be beyond Voldemort to use Muggles to his end, and their own downfall – as long as that's feasible, as long as they are of use..."

"Muggles? Riddle wouldn't ever – "

"He has done so already, Albus, as I have reason believe; and passes this off, with the more excitable of his pureblood followers, as a „strategic alliance", which it surely is – if Lucius Malfoy is to be trusted. You'll remember, Albus, that I considered such a thought absurd when I reported last, and only mentioned that someone who's got a crush on me introduced me to people worshipping someone who looked ridiculously like the description Harry gave you of Riddle resurrected?

"The point is that Lord Voldemort may have crossed the line – I believe he has really done it, this time. Wand and all!"

The old wizard sat, pondering this quietly, and shook his head unhappily. Silva ignored the gesture.

"So, I knew about such things already, and thought Lucius was mocking me by his questions, though I could not figure out right away how he knew in the first place, or why he should care. I had a lot of time to think about that later on, running here. Lucius's words did consolidate the reality of what until then had only been an absurd notion, not even as much as a vague suspicion. Surely, that was not his intention at all… I would not have mentioned it again otherwise, were it not for my dear brother's best school time friend... Up to then, it was a mere anecdote... You must ask Severus if he's heard anything of that sort. He probably has, and surely will have considered it even more silly that I did at first... Albus, I am afraid it is possible!

"What Lucius Malfoy told me sheds a different light on what I had witnessed before. He asked me a lot about Muggle beliefs and what they do when they believe to conjure up a demon or ghost, and would they take orders from such an apparition. I found those questions odd, but they eventually linked up with other incidents and observations. Lucius gave several examples, usually of things having gone wrong, and allowed for a lot of guessing. What happens seems to be that Voldemort shows himself at the meetings of those Muggles, in a circle, presumably conjured up by them, and under their control and command. It does not seem that one of these groups ever before hit upon an actual source of magical power, but this time...

"However, according to Lucius Malfoy, by my inference again, mind you, Voldemort tells his wizard followers that he needs such groups now to gain full access to the Muggle world, and that they will not stand a chance later when their time is up – which likely is true enough. And were Voldemort able to control those groups, we'd stand no chance either. We can't hope for a Harry Potter to come to the rescue every time things become tight for us…

"You know, Albus, that Lucius is a great blabbermouth who can't hold his secrets, and a liar to boot, but much of this had the ring of truth to it. I believe he was careless because he did not expect me to be in on topicalities, or interested at all in such matters…"

They both retreated into gloomy silence. Eventually, Silva spoke up again.

"So, these Muggles appear to believe that Voldemort's the personification of evil, or a prince or demon from one of their many hells. I have no idea how or as what Voldemort introduced himself with them. They conjure him up, using blood, of course, and might follow his instructions minutely if he promises them power. I'm quite sure that feeling a power like his, should he crack the whip on them, will send them running to serve him a good as they can, and they will stop at nothing. Those people really wish to destroy their own kind!

"And while he does, or rather did, I am afraid, need these people to pass into the Muggle world, and for nourishment, considering the state he is in, they are silly enough to believe that they can order him to come on or disappear at their will, and do their bidding. They do believe that they can limit the damage done! It will be easy for Voldemort to make them dance to his tune."

The Headmaster pondered that.

"So, Voldemort seems to have made contact with and allied himself to a rather mean set of Muggles. No-one in the wizard world outside of his own Inner Circle will, I believe, know of that yet.

"But Silva, how would you know that Malfoy was not lying to you? Why should he have told you in the first place if he suspected that you were going to Hogwarts?"

"I can't! I don't understand why he told me, except for the one reason that he tried to pump me for information to get along with those Muggles better. Very likely, Lucius can't imagine that I am reporting to you personally, and on a somewhat regular basis. Obviously, my only indication to the truthfulness of his words is the coincidence. I have no idea why he'd bother to tell me, except to show off, and let me know that I'd sided with the losers so many years ago. He wanted to impress me while I was still at school, and still might wish to do so now. His telling implies that he was sure that I was on my way to return to wizardry for good, mean no danger to his plans, and have no clue of the goings-on at all. He probably even thought that I might be in the hands of the Death Eaters soon…

"Let me state again that I have no idea how he would know my whereabouts unless he somehow has divined what drove me back in the first place."

At that, Dumbledore looked at her with some surprise, then sighed. Silva ignored him.

"Also, Lucius must think that there's no danger in my knowing, for some reason. In all probability, Voldemort's aims have been achieved already, and Lucius Malfoy only goes there for the final touches... One possible reckoning of his may be that, if this rumour of Voldemort having gone off to the Muggles to hassle them gets around, the Ministry, and others, will develop a false sense of security..."

The old Headmaster, who was listening intently, nodded to that.

"In any case, it makes sense in connection with rumours I've been hearing for months, and had no explanation for... And Malfoy can't possibly know that.

"You know I made a little extra money with my knowledge of herbs… There was the wish to sometimes talk about our world without being conspicuous, so I hung out with role-players and re-enactors, that's people who play wizards, or medieval knights etc., and who like a good story about another world. Among them are people who call themselves Occultists, and other strange Muggle folk. Most of them are rather nicer and more open-minded that the average Muggle, if more querulous, too, but some are really weird and nasty.

"I met one of the latter type there. That guy'd taken a fancy to me, and been trying to date me for some time – somehow, he thought that a Dark kind of adventure would do best. He said that there were fundamental changes going on in the world, and he'd show me. He took me to a meeting of his group, Church of Dark Release they call themselves. Lucky for me, it was not one of those nights that Voldemort, if it is him indeed, appeared in their midst – that would have been real trouble for me, and some show for them! I surely would not be here now...

"At that point, I found the whole experience not very intriguing, and it did nothing for the guy to get me to date him – his lot, I did not like at all, even though they seemed harmless enough then.

"What that man had said only really made sense after what Lucius told me. I remembered the description that guy gave me of their master demon. It then was easy to figure out who they were conjuring up, and believed to control... That guy had not been lying.

"I am sure the guy'd been sworn to secrecy by that circle, probably by Voldemort himself, but such a thing merely seems to be one more reason with Muggles to brag and make things known, particularly the males. At the time, I even got to see a Muggle photograph of their - well, demon. That was unusual in itself, insofar as that Muggle demons can't usually be put on Muggle photographs I didn't think much of it, it could have been anything at the time, a fake, or someone in a nasty disguise, and forgot all about it. But I made the connection when Lucius asked all those questions – I realised that that photograph fitted the description you once gave of Voldemort's new look only too well. I still have only your description to go by, mind you. . I tried to consider it a coincidence, not to be taken serious at all, but found it worried me greatly.

"Lucius was very circumventive of the subject of the return of what he claims is his former master, saying that the rise of such a menace was deplorable, etc.

"If I am not mistaken in my assessment, Lucius Malfoy is intending to meet those Muggles, and that is of immediate importance to all of you – us. He'll claim to be an emissary of hell… He could get that hell-bent group to blow themselves up on orders of their master, or make them kill other Muggles... I guess he might even be in the Muggle world by now. Maybe some mixed families can find a way of intervening…

"There is some sort of a pureblood thing going between Muggles, too, depending on skin colour and other features that are easily recognizeable. So, those Muggles believe in some kind of pure-breeding in Muggles, and do hate wizards. That funny bunch thinks they are the real wizards, and that real wizards are white of skin, in this case! That only shows how short-sighted they are, and how very unable to look over the brims of their cups...

"More than anything, the powers that would be hate the factual power...

"Voldemort, however, might not be needing those Muggles at all except for a fence and to get some dirty work done, depending on the state he is in himself... I wouldn't know, that's beyond my knowledge of magical theory...

"They seem to worship the apparation sure enough, You-know-who or not, and I am positive that they would kill should he order them to. They are waiting for that, to be allowed to do so… If they do not do so anyway to conjure him up, or just to please him, or themselves...

"If they could be made to perceive our world, and invade it, there would be a terrible battle...

"Lucius told me about those things with a big sneer. I'd have loved to wipe it off his face, but I was distracted, and curious to know what he was on about. Lucius was ridiculing Muggle stupidity to aggravate me rather than letting things drop intentionally, I believe.

"He also had some rumour about the Blood of the Enemy having been used already. I've no idea what he meant by that, and Lucius refused to elaborate…"

Silva noted that Dumbledore was struck by her last words. Was it her mentioning of that phrase Lucius had used, or that ghastly story of Muggle stupidity in general?

"Can you tell me more about this, Albus?" Silva asked, feeling sure that he could.

The old wizard merely shook his head, indicating that he did not want to elaborate either about the reference Lucius Malfoy had made to the ritual using Harry's blood to resurrect his master. Voldemort was strong, and getting stronger…

Albus Dumbledore was greatly troubled by the connections the witch before him was making between events, and showed it.

Silva sensed the old wizard's disquiet and was worried, wondering what in her tale could have brought it about, but went on. Considering, none of what she had to tell could be called good news, really…

"As it seems, Lucius still has a crush on me or rather, not quite forgiven me my rejection, after all these years. He was definitely bragging, showing off, trying to tell me how stupid Muggles are, and that I should come back to the real, wise, pureblood wizards of the realm... Which might be his way of courting today, I would not know – it was not really attractive in any case. I've no idea how he can believe that I'd join his lot should I really come back, after all that happened! He probably believes that exile among the Muggles must convince anyone of their inferiority and expendability…

"There is no reason that he should feed me stuff like that of his own invention, or under orders of his Dark Lord either, even if I still don't understand how he found me. Might be a little game of his own.

"I do not think that he knows or cares enough about the Muggle world to make a story like that upon his own, which is my main reason of bringing this rumour before you again."

Dumbledore nodded, ponderously.

"There is some very good reasoning in what you say, distressing as it may be."

Silva continued: "Let us try to see what might happen. Lucius Malfoy steps onto the Muggle stage. Those people will love him, his looks, his demeanour, even his smell, I should think... If he managed to show up in an appropriate manner, as an emissary of their demon-lord, they'll just kiss his feet...

"If his aim was flight after all, he'd be approaching his very own hell, in a sense... Some punishment of and in itself... Probably he merely used his chance of pumping someone he knew for reliable information. A Malfoy living with Muggles, adored by Muggles... Do you think he'd even notice the contradiction?"

"Oh, I doubt that... He might tire of it eventually though, for lack of worthier devotees..."

This made Silva giggle, but she grew serious again immediately.

"I do so hope that I am seeing into this meeting things that are not there… Else, this is indeed bad, Albus."

"Oh yes, that it is, my dear. But I find it a relief to see that it rhymes for you. Many wizards with more – well, reliable, sources of information are neither willing nor able to make as much of what they know..."

"By what you've said he would not need to fly, which was what I thought when I met him... So, where would he be, now? With those Muggles?"

"Many people might not want to support him or have him around and will only be too happy if he's gone – just as the Ministry in general will be happy not to have to try and refuse him a come-back into his positions here – if they at all can, that is..."

"If he's gone, not all that many people will ask where he might be, for the time being."

The Headmaster and the wayward witch sat in silence for some time.

----------

After a few moments, the staircase started to move, bringing someone up to the office. There was a knock, and after inviting in whoever it was, Dumbledore said:

"Even if there was no need to run, Lucius is sure to make his way. He's not one to be intimidated by Muggles."

Silva glanced at the visitor, who had by then entered. He was a thin, smallish boy, lanky, black hair disorderly, glasses.

Harry Potter!

He'd grown some since she'd seen him last, but he still was small and underweight for his age, and looked a bit distraught right now.

His approach to the desk was not shy, but he did not speak, nodding to her slowly, green eyes staring wide. He'd probably been in class this morning. There was no other reason to stare like that at a visitor to the Headmaster of Hogwarts... Yes, he had been there, she read it in him.

Harry had just received an owl by Fred and George, relieving him magically of a charm that they'd used on him earlier that day. He felt that his attempts at convincing them to return were at an end, the twin's threats having become quite serious of late. There was no chance to succeed. He had merely thought to report as much to the Headmaster, and advanced when he found the stairs to work.

And there was that Snape woman, talking animatedly to the Headmaster. They seemed to know each other well, and even be friends. He thought he heard Malfoy's name mentioned when he entered.

Harry did not mean to intrude, surely what he had to say could wait, but...

The Headmaster motioned to the boy who was still staring at Silva Snape.

"Excellent! Sit down, Harry, sit down. Just a minute. I think you might be of use here."

Tea and muffins appeared in front of him. Fawkes, after briefly touching down to greet the boy by way of rubbing his cheek and stealing a piece of scone, went back to perch on the shoulder of the woman.

"This is Silva Snape, as you will already know. Silva, Harry Potter, the hope of the wizarding world."

The woman said seriously: "Hi, Harry, an honour to meet you," and noticed the red flecks on the boy's cheeks that seemed to be brought about rather by the embarrassment of the introduction than her presence, or a feeling of pride. Was there even something like anger about it in him?

Silva Snape nodded politely and, considering the Headmaster having called the boy in, thought it to be okay to go on with what she had to say.

So, she said: "However, summing those tidings up, I should like to stay here at Hogwarts, Headmaster, if you see any chance for me to be of use here. I do not think I am safe in the wizarding world, otherwise... May I? Would you help me with it, like you did my brother? He'll hate it! You guessed the wish already…"

Her voice had become pleading, as Albus was hurt to hear. Pleading did not suit her, and she had done valuable work for the order – surely, this tone was a measurement of her distress.

"You could stay at Grimmauld Place..."

"Keeping old Remus company, right, poor guy... That draughty horrid old Dark magical box, and memories and Dark artefacts everywhere... No, Albus."

The old wizard smiled at her. Apparently, he'd expected as much. She was very much like her brother – uncompromising even when in dire need, and generally getting what she wanted...

"It's been cleared out pretty much, you know?"

Silva Snape merely shook her head.

The Headmaster grinned mischievously.

"I had to ask that to make sure."

She now nodded.

"I can see that."

"Silva, I did indeed hope you would want to return to Hogwarts, while I wish dearly that the circumstances and outlook were generally more bright. You are needed here. But then, everyone is – and many might die... I would be very grateful if you stayed – to fight by my side, like you said you would – and to have your wand back soon... Do you want it?"

"Oh, not right now."

"No?"

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, his eyes twinkling.

"Some witch you are..."

Silva smiled, despite herself.

"My very dear brother said as much, too... Well, I've been doing well without magic for a good 20 years, Albus, and am in no hurry to resume. A few days do not matter! There are other things more pressing..."

Harry gaped at her. She had no wand now? Had she really come in from the Muggle world, just like Malfoy and his buddies had suggested, and without any use of her magic? Her whole demeanour, however, increased his sense of urgency. Big and terrible things were about to happen...

"You are sure that you will stay?"

She nodded.

"You know about the difficulties. I do believe days to matter, in the end...

"However… are you still as good with herbs as you were, being a student?"

"Honestly, I would not know," Silva said, relieved by the distraction, and some possible solution to that part of the problem, "with the magical bit of that, at least, but then, why should I not be?"

"I do believe that Professor Sprout – you will not know her?" – Silva shook her head – "that Professor Sprout, who teaches Herbology now, is in quite some need of an assistant, particularly one who is good at the subject of Herbology, is not too wont of breaking things, and does like to work with her own hands, without magic, to do the things the house-elves can't. I'll see to that.

"About your magic – you must be completely out of practice!"

Silva nodded again. "Don't forget I never made it beyond the fourth year."

"I possibly couldn't forget that, dear, but you did have some... advantage by your upbringing... However, this is where Harry here might come in. He is a very capable young wizard, one of the best of his age, and could be of great assistance once you've got your wand back, so that you can slip safely back into the old habits, and pick up from him what you missed when you left school so unexpectedly. He is now in his sixth year, and headed a Defence against the Dark Arts club last year... by the name of Dumbledore's Army, incidentally. It greatly annoyed the Minister."

Dumbledore chuckled.

The boy blushed, rather sweetly, and seemed about to say something, but nothing came out.

Silva nodded to him: "That would be great! You're a famous boy, I'd be honoured! Harry – would you ...teach me what I missed out on?"

Dumbledore added: "Do you feel up to it, young man? What with homework, and Quidditch, and... your other appointments?"

Harry would not for the life of him have missed the opportunity to get close to someone who apparently was a source of information to Dumbledore himself, seemed to know Lucius Malfoy, and might have known his parents in school! If that meant additional work, so be it. Also, he'd liked her right away, even when she burst into class. Her attitude toward him was entirely different from that of her brother, too.

Dumbledore seemed to be amazed about his silence and feel a need to convince him.

"Now do you agree, Harry? A fine chance, too, I am sure, to practice for your N.E.W.T.s – and after. Silva Snape here used to be one of our finest students in her time! She'll pick up again in no time at all, I am sure, and might even teach you a few things. She knows a lot about the Dark Arts..."

Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even while he said that, and he turned back to Silva, who'd blushed with dislike of his last remark.

"My dear, you have, I believe, no idea how grateful I really am to have you back here. You might be able to comfort Severus a little, and hold in check this youngster here and his high-flying plans, by helping them with the Dark Arts... Will you tutor her, boy?"

The Headmaster now smiled at Harry who, to his own surprise, did not feel incensed about the Headmaster's inferences, but felt he was looking forward to spend time with the strange woman sitting beside him, oddly familiar as she seemed, and although she was still dirty like a sewage worker, smelling of mud a bit even at the distance. She had not gaped at him, or wanted to see his scar, or to shake his hand for a heroic deed he did remember nothing about. Looking at her, he was almost disappointed about that. Neither did she scold him for being famous, but instead was deriding Snape, who just had to be her brother, unlikely as that was, regardless of the similarities of appearance in them.

Harry said, much surprised by the turn of events, but also curious: "Eh... er, no problem, I think – it would be a pleasure, Mrs. Snape, madam... An honour of course, I am sure..."

His voice was lower than one would have expected from one with his smallish frame. The breaking of voice must be complete in Harry already.

"No mistress or madam, please. Just plain Silva. I am no stuck-up Potions Professor, Harry."

She made a face at him, and he knew then they'd friends. GREAT friends. Here was someone he'd like to be family. He easily averted his mind from the implications of that thought for the moment.

The Headmaster said, looking grave for once: "I must mention that you may not talk about this, even to your friends!"

Harry had heard that a lot, lately. He would manage. He took a sip of tea, and nodded.

After a moment, Dumbledore turned to him. "So, my boy, what brings you here? Another failure, I am afraid?"

Harry remembered the scroll he held. He'd not been able to attain to the Headmaster's, and his own, wishes in the matter, but he was sure that this was not his fault. He'd been working the twins for all he was worth, resorting to moral as well as material blackmail when they did not relent at all. The letter he was taking to the Headmaster tonight was the end of those efforts as far as Harry was concerned.

"Yes, Professor, sorry, sir. I tried and tried again, ever since I left them at the Burrow to return here myself, everything from begging to attempted blackmail, but they won't relent at all."

Silva's eyes went wide when she heard that. The famous Boy-Who-Lived did blackmail!

Harry went on unperturbed and apparently completely unaware of the upsetting term he'd used.

"They still claim they've never been so happy in their lives as they are now, setting up their own business, out of their Mum's hands, and will not have that spoiled by you or anyone else, no matter what is at stake. Actually, the language they use is not nearly as polite as that..."

Harry decided to elaborate for the sake of the woman who would not know anything about this.

"Fred and George've offered me free and unconditional support via owl mail like before, or the Triwizard Tournament money back. When I continued pleading, saying I don't want it, Fred and George said they'd pay me back on the spot anyway, and would I kindly shut up, which requests I of course refused. They must be doing really well if they could do that! When I wouldn't let up, they threatened to have me banned from the Three Broomsticks and the Leaking Cauldron for the rest of my life if I won't stop, and promised to use me as a test person for their newest inventions without my consent.

"They started that today, too, I daresay. There was some powder in their letter this morning... Just a little warning. They only sent some other stuff that shrunk my ears back about an hour ago, after I promised I'd leave it be – as they'd demanded with the other letter. Luckily, I only opened he first one after lunch…

"I don't think, sir, that I can take much more of it. I meant to try, really… It is no use obviously, and I do want to be friends with them in the future!"

"Thank you, Harry. You may leave it at that. We don't want you disfigured and experimented with. If you wish to continue to meet them, go ahead."

"I think I'd rather not, sir... Not right now. We've talked some about bringing supplies into Hogwarts. I think the matter is settled so far..."

Silva Snape seemed to have lost all interest in Harry's report and what it was about, but had curled up in her armchair while he spoke, appearing gloomy and utterly exhausted now.

They fell silent. Harry drained another cup of tea and had a couple of very nice muffins.

The quiet of the room was comfortable, and disturbed only by some rustling of feather from Fawkes who had returned to his perch, the crackling of embers from the fireplace, and the melodic ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in its corner, with a face Harry could never figure out. It seemed to change its meaning constantly.

Eventually, Albus Dumbledore spoke.

"Some things have to be settled first, but either Silva here or I will approach you in time about the tutoring."

Harry realized that they both had been dismissed, but wanted to finish his tea that he found most refreshing after Quidditch practice, having his ears resized twice, attempting to apologize to Snape while not failing completely this time, and going over the same arguments all afternoon to find a handle to pry on the Professor, and being subjected to Ron's irregular bursts of questions about the whys and whens of Occlumency between the curses he'd thought up for his brothers whenever they met, and all in one day. The Snape woman's arrival in the morning was only a minor incident in that light.

He could also feel Silva Snape's exhaustion, and saw how the good spirits were leaving her, but he did not move. Neither did she. Both of them seemed to be taken in by the peace of the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore did not push them. After a while, he asked:

"So, what else is it, Silva? You mentioned things more pressing than getting your wand back, but remain mostly silent about them; yet you are not taking your leave to a well-deserved bath; and I gather that the unthinkable has happened – that you did see Severus first upon arrival, as well behoves a brother and sister, but has been quite out of the question for the best part of a quarter of a century..."

Harry had finished his tea now, but at this point, he'd have left anyway – not even his ingrained strong curiosity made him want to hear any more about his Potions Professor's affairs than he had to already lately, and surely would in the future.

Bidding them a good day, Harry quietly slipped away, receiving a nod from Dumbledore and no recognition of presence from the Snape woman.

After leaving the Headmaster's office, Harry made for the Gryffindor common room, taking his time, hoping to find a seat close to the fireplace and some quiet. He wanted to stare into the embers by himself to think over what he'd heard and what still could be done about Fred and George.

While crossing the Entrance Hall, he heard a familiar swish of robes from a side corridor. Looking in the direction, he saw Snape vanish around a corner, making for the stairs. The Potions Professor probably was on his way to the Headmaster's office.

Poor Silva, to have a brother like that.

So, it seemed that – Snape's sister, she was alright, he kept having to tell himself – Silva would stay at Hogwarts for the time being, probably as an assistant to Professor Sprout, which was good news to him in any case. The Herbology Professor had become increasingly touchy and irascible lately, ready to hand out detentions on the reason that the students utterly failed in cleaning up after them in a sufficient manner.

And Harry'd been appointed to help the strange woman to pick up on magic again...

He wondered if his Potions Professor would really be happy with that. The better if he was not...

Harry grinned.

He pondered what he'd just witnessed – rather than report, he'd listened, he thought. When he had entered the office, they'd been talking about Lucius Malfoy whom the woman seemed to have met. She was still in those dirty rags she'd worn when gate-crashing the Potions lesson, but besides, she'd seemed comparatively radiant and fresh.

After that, they had spoken about her having no wand at the moment, which seemed to be with Dumbledore, since he had offered it back to her, or rather, had teased her about giving it back. Yet neither of them seemed to be in a hurry about it. She had said she'd not practiced magic in 25 years, and lived with the Muggles by choice for most of that time. This was something that Harry found incredible, not only because of his own experience. He'd only known about magic for a good five years, and would not miss it again for the life of him!

Also, it seemed that she had left Hogwarts mid of term – ran away? –, during her fourth year… apparently, she'd never bothered to pick up on upper year's knowledge, Dumbledore had said as much...

So, he would assist her to catch up and practice, he'd be her tutor. Harry was sure to find out more about her that way. He would spend quite some time with her, and he did look forward to that. Would Snape make ill of Harry Potter, of all people, tutoring his sister? Well, what if Snape couldn't be bothered himself? But why not, for Merlin's sake? Silva Snape seemed pretty intriguing, and much nicer than her brother, whom she seemed to have some kind of ancient disagreement with that ran deep. But then, being nice probably counted rather in the negative with the dour Potions Professor, though…

There was something else: on leaving the Headmaster's office, Harry had gotten a glimpse of a feeling of tremendous pressure, or urgency, and sadness about her.

But puzzling him most was another thing, over and again: where on Earth had he met her before? Obviously without being reminded of her brother by the likeness, too? Harry was sure that he had, still more now than he'd been in the morning, and a very long time ago...

But Harry also knew that any brain-racking would be useless, so he shoved the thought aside. The memory would come back all by itself, or not at all.


	11. Discussing Strategy

**11. Discussing Strategy**

When Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, he was feeling rather tired. He was also out of luck. The third-years were having a kind of party that included hexing bystanders and using the newest Wizard Wheezes on them, and were making a row worthy of a Quidditch World Cup audience. It reminded him of the racket Fred and George always had produced.

Had he and Ron been been like that, too? Hermione surely had not… Harry merely made a face and climbed the stairs to the dormitory. No-one was there, and he finally was all by himself.

Harry laid back in his cushions and recapitulated the day. He had made his second attempt to reconcile Professor Snape this afternoon with more success than the first, whatever that would be worth in the end. He was sure that Hermione would approve of this attempt, and might even be proud of him. They had seen a relative of Snape's arrive under strange, rather spectacular circumstances. Harry had found out more about her, and even agreed to tutor her, which he somehow felt to be an honour. Probably, there were second thoughts behind that on the side of the Headmaster, but surely, Snape's… Silva must be out of practice, that much was for sure. He would find out about all that soon enough, and learn a lot himself.

He wondered what Hermione might come to learn from Dumbledore if she ever managed to meet him, and was not sure if he was looking forward to his own evening appointment with the Headmaster – if the old wizard would still find time for storytelling, that was, what with having to find the woman… Silva a place to stay – and with all the references to horrible events and murder that he'd gathered from Dumbledore's story so far.

Harry felt that he might get more than he asked for and, in the end, prefer to not have been told about all those events at all... Actually, he considered he'd had enough of such things already to last him a lifetime. He was tired… But the Headmaster had asked him to be back to hear more…

Harry was trying to plot another approach to Snape to get him to agree – so silly! – to agree to something he was sure neither of them wanted to do, or would enjoy… He wasn't sure if Snape didn't hate it more still than he himself did...

He fell asleep.

But this eventful day was not at an end yet for Harry. He woke with a start when Ron shook him rather rudely, and said that they'd be late for dinner.

Harry was very much refreshed, but felt he wanted some time to himself right now. Ron was impatient and did not want to wait, so Harry told him he would follow suit, and took his time to really wake up. Some cold water in the face was very helpful.

Not ten minutes after Ron, he entered the Great Hall. He hardly sat when Hermione whispered that she had finally managed to see Dumbledore in the afternoon, and had a lot to tell. She was agitated, her hair even bushier than usual. Harry wondered what news she might bear.

Suddenly, Harry had to grin: He'd found out what her hair always reminded him of: a squirrel. Whenever they got excited, their hair stood on end, too. Hermione's even had the same colour as some of them had… Though he had to admit to himself that that was about all the likeness Hermione Granger had with small, scurry, rather defenceless animals.

Harry was very curious about what she'd have to report, and to hear her view of the things Dumbledore had told him, but they would have to wait some hours to get away unnoticed by their fellow housemates.

Homework was not an affair that could command concentration tonight. Ron was off best since he did not know what to expect, and worked away slowly and methodically. All of them were grateful to be able to leave Potions homework aside for the day.

Hermione and Harry both were excited and jumpy, exchanging looks of impatience quite often. Couldn't she clear out the common room? She was a Prefect, after all… Which would attract attention to those who stayed behind much like a beacon would to a cliff, right?

The common room finally cleared of people around ten.

"Let's go to the Room of Requirement!"

Hermione, though being a Prefect, obviously did not mind that curfew was close, for once.

They all slipped under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and took off.

On their way there Harry asked her: "When you spoke to the Headmaster, did you see someone else there?"

"No, should I have?"

"The woman who barged into Potions this morning."

"Wow – why? She looked pretty wild!" interjected Ron.

"No… why?" Hermione asked.

"She really is Snape's sister like we thought, and she will stay at Hogwarts, to assist Professor Sprout."

Both of his friends agreed that this was good news in any case. The irritability of the Herbology teacher had been a cause of dismay particularly to Ron, and Hermione had found it increasingly difficult to ask questions on the subject that she needed answers to without being scoffed at. That didn't make things easier for her as Herbology was another subject they shared with the Slytherins this year.

Harry added: "It appears Snape doesn't like her, but she's really very nice."

"She must be, then! That is probably why he doesn't like her, I should think." Ron mused.

"A nice Snape? Incredible!"

Harry giggled, but Hermione was impatient, wanting to give her own news.

One thing Harry knew he would find hard to keep to himself though was that she had fled the magical world and lived among the Muggles, without magic and her wand, out of her own free will at least in part, and for more than 20 years apparently! It was so incredible!

The Room of Requirement was scattered with seats with cushions of all sizes, and the light was dimmed. It looked very comfortable and inviting.

"Now isn't this just perfect again? I love this room!" exclaimed Hermione.

They sat.

Hermione had finally had her meeting with the Headmaster after several attempts of approaching him without success, and was fairly quivering with news. So she began her report in an agitated manner.

"The big thing first, I think. Dumbledore said that he wants us – us three in particular, but also our friends who participated in Dumbledore's Army –, to cooperate with Professor Snape."

Ron gulped, then made a retching sound.

"We are to reinstate Dumbledore's Army, sort of, with Snape tutoring and teaching us from the wings. He will obviously not appear in the meetings openly, but teach us three important stuff that we are supposed to hand on to the others."

"Oh no! Not me!" the redhead wailed.

"Actually this should appeal to you, Ron, and be easier for you than most of the others – we are not supposed to like Professor Snape all of a sudden, or behave any different toward him, but much the opposite. A change of behaviour might even compromise Professor Snape's cover! Neither will he change his behaviour toward us, or Gryffindor in general.

"The Headmaster said that Snape's the most knowledgeable person in the field far and wide."

"What a surprise, all that," mumbled Ron.

"Oh Ron, be quiet! There are spies around, or children of Death Eaters at least, and many chances to be taken into account! The Headmaster pressed upon me the utmost importance of securing Snape's safety, and sheltering him from attacks.

"I have no idea what to expect, but it might have to do with the fact that Lucius Malfoy seems to get ready to disappear. You know that his acquittal of being an attacker in the Ministry of Magic is at hand?"

Both boys murmured angrily.

"People like him will always get away..."

"Never mind, though. The other thing is that Professor Snape himself is not to know that we are looking out for him.

"Dumbledore said" – Hermione gave Ron a sidelong glance – "that some of us, not only Harry, might have to take some sort of lessons with him."

"I won't," Ron said flatly, ready to say his thoughts on the matter, but Hermione shushed him with a wave of her hand.

"Let me continue, Ron! Apparently, the Headmaster hopes to avoid that by having Snape's sister – right, the woman we saw arrive this morning, working with us."

"But she's only been to Hogwarts for four years!" Harry interjected.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked. Ron also stared at him.

"I'll tell you later, I promise! Please do go on!" Harry said.

"You were supposed to tell us why Professor Dumbledore trusts Snape, right?" demanded Ron.

"Right. There are four main reasons. He's told you all of them, I believe, Harry. By the way, it seems you agreed to really make up with Professor Snape, and attempt to learn Occlumency again?"

Harry nodded, faintly unhappy, while Ron, once more, shook his head in exasperation.

"I still don't get it," he murmured.

Hermione shot him a withering look, and said: "I think that is just great, Harry, and you should see it through, really!"

When Harry would not look at her, she continued: "Be that as it may. Dumbledore said that you, Harry, figured that I might understand this better to explain to you both, but it is difficult.

"The most important point is that, in a sense, the Headmaster CANNOT trust Snape, he may not, for strategical reasons, yet he has to, and has to use him. We are not supposed to trust him either, Ron! Snape is never admitted to Order meetings except to report, while being a full Order member, and gets all his information about the gatherings from Dumbledore direct.

"This goes, much the other way round, for the Death Eater meetings, apparently. Snape is only safe for so long as Voldemort is convinced that he is of use to him.

So far, his information has always been good. That is reason number one.

"I find it hard to imagine how someone can take a life like that. He could be dead any moment, and he is not really safe outside of Hogwarts. The tension must be incredible."

Ron snorted.

"Next you tell us to be kind to him out of pity, right?"

Hermione ignored him.

"Part of his usefulness to Voldemort is his potion-making. Professor Snape is one of the foremost capacities in his field, and while Voldemort apparently was quite excellent at the subject, too, he never reached the same heights of knowledge there. Oddly how I find Dumbledore to hardly differ in his attitude to the Potions Professor from that of Voldemort... He uses him just as well."

Harry remarked dryly: "It's just as well that you both come off of the image he gives of a benevolent, harmless old man. He's not."

"Well, he would not KILL Snape once he's outlived his use to him, would he?" Hermione said.

"Too bad," murmured Ron.

"Maybe not." Harry crossed his arms and fell silent.

Hermione gave him a strange look, but let it rest at that.

The events in the Ministry, probably Sirius's death, had changed Harry, and this was most apparent in his attitude toward the Headmaster. Hermione knew that Harry could not forgive the old wizard that he had not spoken to him for a whole year out of what appeared to be fear, but what precisely Dumbledore was supposed to have told him, she did not know.

The prophecy, while surely a shock, did not seem to be the point there...

She went on.

"Another reason for the Headmaster's trust is the full confession Snape has made to him of his deeds as a Death Eater, which apparently were horrid... Dumbledore said that they were made to him, and him alone, under Veritaserum, and that he was very sure that there was nothing left to imagination. He would not go into any details, but said that Snape also vowed that he would never work for Voldemort again. Dumbledore ordered him to, I think. This must have been a good 20 years ago, quite some time before You-know-who's first downfall.

"He also said that because no-one but himself knew when Voldemort fell for the first time, Snape could name Karkaroff and others, and go scot-free in the end. Dumbledore vouchsafed for Snape, and is apparently a kind of probation officer for him, before the Wizengamot. You know, Muggles have that – a person who has to look after a released convict to make sure that all is well, and that convict not up to mischief. Basically, Snape has to inform the Headmaster whenever he leaves Hogwarts. The school is a sort of open prison to him."

"Well, we know he doesn't, do we?"

"Ron, you are not seriously proposing to make a fuzz of that, to give Professor Snape a hard time? He does what he does on the Headmaster's orders!"

"How do you know? And we could get rid of him easily this way... That would be just so great!"

"How dare you – ...Harry, I think I'll have to obliviate him!"

She pointed her wand at Ron who shrank back, and Harry said, wearily: "Hermione, you know how he talks... He's just joking, take it easy! I'm sure he'll be fine and with us in the end!"

Staring at them both, if a bit outraged at Harry's words, Ron relaxed somewhat.

Hermione said: "Oh, well… Sorry, Ron! I wish I could take it easier, but I don't feel like joking at all, after Umbridge and the fight in the Ministry...

"I'm just so fed-up with those mindless remarks of yours, Ron! They might have been funny once, but they just are not anymore! Why not think first and talk then? Times have changed, we are at war! This is too important to joke about before all is told, if at all, and we need to trust each other! If any of this gets around, school will become hell! Ron, please – tell me you are with us! Please!" she implored.

Ron nodded at her, eyes averted. Of course he was with them! He had never realised that his impulsiveness could seriously get him on the wrong side of her. His first words were never what he acted upon, but he did understand her urgency, and Harry seemed to agree, too. It was not that he did not understand the seriousness of it all. It just had not quite hit home yet, and he could not understand what was wrong about joking and quipping anyway. He would try to please them, though.

Hermione tried to make light of the situation.

"It seems, by the way, that Snape did spend some months in Azkaban, surely you will be happy to hear, Ron."

Ron shrugged. What had just happened had not – well, hurt him, but given him a very different outlook on live, and on his friends. He'd have to chew on that. Faintly, he realised, too, that this was a view of the world that Harry must have lived with for years now...

"So, well, let us return to the subject. Needing his services is not the same as trusting him. You have to understand that Voldemort KNOWS that Snape is a traitor. He only cannot gauge who he is betraying to what extent, and he needs his services for more than one reason...

"Neither is comprehensible, by normal standards, the Headmaster's claim that he knows and understands Snape fully. They have the same approach to politics, so he told me, and play the same game. This may or may not be the case – it is not something that anybody else can fully grasp, I think.

"So, Snape's confession under Veritaserum is reason number two. Having a full confession of a man's crimes, and an oath, given under the Serum of Truth, that he means to turn away from his evil master must be considered a reason to trust someone.

"The test could be repeated anytime," Harry added.

"Maybe now would be it," muttered Ron, and was ignored.

"The Headmaster has Snape's full memories in the Pensieve, I think. Also, from what I gathered, the Pensieve is not the Headmaster's, but belongs to Snape's family, and Snape surrendered it to the Headmaster as a token of his truthfulness."

"That is what he has told me, too," Harry said. "There's nothing I could add there, really. I guess we just have to accept this, and trust Dumbledore's judgement... I do think the surrender of a Pensieve with hundreds of years of family history in it is a very good reason for trust, don't you agree?"

Hermione nodded, but Ron looked on doubtfully.

"The thing is private, see, Ron? There would not merely be the flattering and glorious moments in it, but a lot of things that have gone wrong, and crimes, and misdeeds, too… I understand he could not take anything out from it that he has not put in it himself. It is the memory of his ancestors… I think Snape has put most of his memories from his times as a Death Eater in there, and they would count as evidence before a court. Who would deliver such a precious thing, full of memories of crimes they and their family have committed, into the hands of his enemy, if he did not mean to change sides? The surrender of such a precious thing , with the images of his crimes in it, is reason number three to trust Snape. Dumbledore lso said that You-Know-Who does not know about its existence."

"That is just so!"

Fervent nods came from Hermione now, and Ron seemed to agree.

Harry shivered a bit, trying to imagine what it would be like to have to leave all those memories – of him at the Dursley's, his mother screaming, Cedric, Sirius – he pushed those latter thoughts away immediately – all those things that he hated Snape to get mere glimpses of, in such a device, and hand it over to an enemy, to the Potions Professor for instance, to browse at leisure!

Snape must have been desperate.

"Remember: no-one may know who that Pensieve really belongs to! It seems Voldemort himself doesn't! Promise to never talk about it!"

They all did.

"Did Dumbledore really say that the Pensieve was Snape's?"

"I might have misunderstood him, he did not tell me outright. This is my inference. He said that Snape's full family history was in it – I should think that was clear enough… Could you ask him about that?"

Harry said: "Dumbledore told me, I think we can be sure."

"But for reason number four, there are things we can make out ourselves, too.

"There's Snape's stand against Quirrel, in our first year, which must have made sure that Voldemort knows that he's not on his side... We don't know what they spoke though, and it may be that he appeared to be merely protecting the school. He would not have know that Quirrel sort of – well, WAS Voldemort..."

"Why didn't Voldemort show himself earlier then?"

"Apart from very likely being too weak, I should think it was just because of that! He could not be sure of Snape's loyalties!"

"Yes, he was too weak then…"

Hermione shushed them with a wave of her hand.

"See: more convincing still I find his successful attempt at protecting you during the Quidditch match, Harry. He protests not to like you. We have evidence that he hated your father, although James saved him from Remus – or because of that, maybe. Your death would have meant much greater safety for the Dark Lord. And yet, when no-one knew what was going on, not even Dumbledore, and no-one was able to act for you, when Snape could easily have let you drop to the ground from a hundred and fifty yards, to be smashed beyond recovery, without him ever being accused of anything, he helped you, and saved you."

"Dumbledore might have caught my fall, or someone else..."

"Of course someone else might have – but you can't be sure of it, Harry!"

Harry had to admit that much, and nodded.

"I think, too, that the Headmaster was distracted at the time… Maybe he had ordered Professor Snape to guard you, but I won't bet on that. Anyway, in our third year, Snape did attempt – Harry, try not to blow your top – he did attempt to protect us all from Sirius – "

"Hermione – "

She would not let Harry speak.

"Look at it from his point of view! He did not know, as neither did we, that Sirius was innocent. He hated him, but he would have tried to protect us from..."

"Or any other student, Hermione! And you and Ron did not see what he did when the Dementors came! He did not give a damn that they were about to kiss us! He was more than half mad at that time! He only wanted to turn Sirius in, dead or alive!

"And where was he during the third task of the Tournament, and after? I think he was not – was not at the graveyard, but I cannot be sure!"

"Oh, well. You have never really told us yet what happened there, Harry…" Ron said.

Hermione sensed Harry's distress and went on rapidly.

"He did alert the Headmaster when you told him about what you had seen happening to Sirius..."

"Let's not talk about this, ok? I've decided to go on and take those dreary lessons with him, trust or no trust!"

And, in a lighter tone, Harry added: "Constant vigilance, see? That's what we need."

They all grinned weakly. Valuable teachings did not always come from the right side or were easy to be had – they'd found out that much.

"Now, his was nothing new to me – "

"And neither convincing," Ron yawned.

"– but what do we do next?"

"Guys, I'm not finished! Be patient!

"I wanted to know more about the rumour that Snape wants very much to teach Dark Arts, and asked Professor Dumbledore about that. He sighed when I asked, and said that this was a complicated issue, but he would try to answer it fully, for us."

Ron yawned again.

"Remember, too, Ron, what Harry and I think about Potions being Defence against the Dark Arts...

"The reasons I gave you for his sort-of-trust are much the same why Dumbledore won't let Snape teach Defence. First he tried to circumvent that subject, but eventually, he said he won't have Snape teach Dark Arts officially indeed.

"That is not, of course, because he thinks that Snape doesn't have the knowledge, or some such thing, but rather because he knows too much."

"For a former Death Eater, that would rather be the obvious case, won't it?" said Ron.

"That is close, but not all it, though," said Hermione. "I'll explain in a minute. His being or rather, having been, a Death Eater, is still only a rumour with most wizards, remember. One would think that Dumbledore's trust doesn't go all that far, or that maybe he is afraid what parents will say, what with all the rumours about. Many of them remember the processes that Snape attended as a major witness for the prosecution. Hence, it IS a rumour, and that is definitely a point. Also, this post would give him too much freedom in bringing things into school – remember boggarts and so on? Apparently, this does not really match with the conditions set concerning his staying on at Hogwarts. That's more a kind of legal issue, though. Snape would never do anything against Dumbledores orders.

"Somehow though, all the reasons I listed so far are ulterior with the Headmaster. This is inference again, mind you.

"Again he, trusting Snape, does not mind his having been a Death Eater. That is not it. Neither is it because the Headmaster really considers possible treason an issue. He says that betrayal cannot be helped if it happens.

"There are, to the Headmaster, two main reasons, as it seems. The first being that he sees a risk of Snape giving the Order or himself away to Malfoy and his buddies – not so much because he'd lose his temper, or get overenthusiastic about some method of defence against the Dark Lord – not Snape, he must be a past master in dissembling, as he is in Legilmency –, or on purpose either, but because of _what _he would teach, and _how_. They, and their Death Eater parents, trust him now. They would not then.

"The other reason is much more plain.

"What is more, like Harry has made very plausible, Snape IS TEACHING DARK ARTS ALREADY in a way, and in more than one respect. His approach can be considered a lot more instructive than „real" Defence against the Dark Arts lessons, where everything is out in the open, and things can be foreseen..."

Ron interrupted her: "So you were right, mate... weird!"

He was convinced now, Harry noticed with some amusement. Hermione had done it again.

"Yes, Ron, he was, and Dumbledore was quite impressed with the perception, Harry. When I told him what you had found out, he seemed a bit disappointed, or puzzled rather, wondering why you did not tell him about that idea when you were with him last time.

"I said that you'd probably just realised the full extent of what this would mean, as you'd only asked me what I thought about it when you told me to go see him and, well, seemed to be distressed with the idea. Also, I mentioned that it had been difficult enough for you to tell your friends, that is us" – Hermione looked at Ron pointedly, who glared back – "because you considered the thought crazy at first, and he laughed. When I said that you'd had it with heading news like those that the Daily Prophet indulged you with, he admitted that he could understand your silence.

"He said that you need to trust your own observations more, Harry, and that Occlumency lessons with Snape would help there, too...

He seems to expect you to have come to some sort of conclusion because of your idea, though..."

"I think I have... It's just what I said, about really taking up the lessons again, and about apologizing to Snape."

"Apologize?" Hermione was taken aback. "What for? Why should you?"

Harry suddenly found himself in the odd situation of defending a course of action that he was determined to see through, which again he himself only realized fully in this very moment. He had not invented it himself, and did not enjoy it at all, but he would go ahead with it.

"See, I... I sneaked a peek into his memories last term, when he was called away because of some trouble at Umbridge's office. I haven't told you. I thought I'd find information about the Order, or Sirius, there... I saw… other things… private. About my father and… Sirius. Snape won't teach me again, if I don't."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Harry felt he now had really made up his mind. What he had experienced in the afternoon with Snape had helped his decision greatly, too.

"I will apologize, too, trust me. I just had to make up my mind about some things, and piece them together... The Headmaster has been telling me things… Dumbledore is right. I have come to conclusions – more than one, that is."

"And just what are those things and conclusions, mate?" asked Ron, feeling generally left out.

"Taking up Occlumency again, seriously this time, and even at the price of an apology to the greasy git, for one. I'll tell you of it what I can, soon. Just not yet. Let Hermione finish first."

Ron nodded his assent.

Hermione said: "If you imagine a scale, it might look like this: Umbridge's purely theoretical and negative approach is the worst, at the bottom, and as low as can be, because what she did is very likely worse than no Defence against the Dark Arts lesson at all: discouraging people, and destroying their interest in the subject. Not to mention her kind of punishment, which in a way must have been more instructive than all of her lessons..."

Harry snorted.

"You sound like you feel sorry about having missed out on 'writing lines'!"

He got a glance, but was otherwise ignored.

"Practical lessons with a capable teacher like Lupin are a far cry above that, and just great to have, right on the other end of that scale. But they are stil lessons. One knows what will happen next, to a certain extent. So, the real thing, tests and tasks that feel like a part of a war because they, on some level, ARE part of a war, if only between the Hogwarts houses, and hence are really helpful, is what we can only get with Snape. As much as we might hate it, he is top, the best we'll ever get... And that's in part due to his not impeding petty house enmities, see? The closest thing to his teaching us, his kind of training would be real war... And that will come whether we like it or not, and we are not ready for that in the least."

"The git," murmured Ron.

"Oh Ron – that is not so because of Professor Snape, but because of the war! He has not made it!" Hermione reproached. "If it wasn't for Voldemort, none of this would be necessary!"

Harry murmured: "There will always be some Voldemort or other…"

Ron didn't listen to him, but retorted gloomily to what Hermione had said: "Do you think so, really?"

Hermione shot him a familiar look of irritation, but continued regardless:

"However, I understand that the Headmaster is profoundly unhappy with all of this, but says Snape is, too" – at that, Ron snorted disbelievingly – "and that both agree, as do the rest of the staff and Order members – with the possible exception of your Mum, Ron –, that such a manner of learning is utterly necessary these days. There is no way around it, if Wizardkind, and the Muggle-born are to survive and we, to win, and not to lose.

"This is just one of the reasons why the rumours about Snape desiring to teach Dark Arts seem to be rumours only. He's not really that keen to teach the subject officially, if we decide to trust in the Headmaster's words.

"Snape's knowledge must be considered dangerous, and might betray him – either to the parents in general as a Death Eater, or to the Death Eater parents as a traitor. Snape seems to have no such qualms or at least not to fear a slip-up, and to be sure of himself there. Yet Dumbledore won't have it, because he thinks highly of him, and reckons rightly he's in enough danger already. I think another point is that the Headmaster still can't embrace the idea of allowing Dark Arts to be taught here at Hogwarts officially, they way they do in Durmstrang."

"Oh, you sure know a lot about that already, considering you are writing to Vicky still, aren't you?"

"Now if that wasn't an avatar of a remark besides the point…" Hermione sounded bored and exasperated.

"Oooh, avatar… what's that, anyway? Aren't we becoming snape-ish?"

Hermione shot Ron a very nasty look at that, but ignored him otherwise. She didn't even bother to tell him not to call Victor Krum Vicky.

"Anyway, that was not what I was getting at, but this: Snape has invented quite a few things in his time, not all of which seem made it into the public archives of the Wizarding Patents Office, I understand. Some never left the application stage, and are filed elsewhere."

"That is too much for me," mumbled Ron.

"It's easy to figure that out," Hermione replied nastily.

Ron shot her a murderous look, but kept quiet.

So Hermione continued where she'd left off.

"It seems, too, from my experience, that we've been in contact with some of those inventions already... I have no idea if Dumbledore approves of that, but I cannot imagine had he would not know.

"Now hold your breath... I've got a feeling that Harry will know some of this already, but anyway, I found it hard to believe.

"Some, but not all, of Snape's inventions are potions and spells that are likely to be very powerful, and for all Dumbledore knows, Snape did once intend to present them to You-know-who, presumably in exchange for a release from inner circle service when he would get married. He has not shown them to the Headmaster."

She made a dramatic pause and shook herself a bit.

The boys looked at her in utter disbelief. Ron because he could not imagine Snape to want to marry or, rather, anyone to want to marry Snape, and Harry, because he had not thought that Dumbledore would tell as much to anyone else but him. Wasn't that supposed to be kept secret? On the other hand, Hermione surely was the last person to go about gossiping about Snape's lost love.

When no reaction came, she repeated: "What do you say? Snape wanted to get married!"

Hearing it again and finding that he could trust his ears, Ron burst into a fit of laughter. Gasping for breath, he said: "Come again?"

He was exhilarated.

"I don't believe it! You are kidding us!"

When Ron had stopped laughing, Hermione continued:

"But that is not all... What is more, Snape apparently did not reckon that this would be considered treason in itself by the Dark Lord even though the woman was a Muggle, it seems. I can't imagine why he wouldn't…

"Snape wanted to marry a Muggle! Can you believe it?"

She almost singsonged that last bit of gossip, not quite content with her friend's reactions to those news.

Ron was flat on his back in the cushions by then, roaring with laughter. Eventually, he was gasping for breath, then shut his trap, and giggled helplessly in disbelief.

"Marry! Snape! A Muggle! What sort of Muggle or wizard or creature would want to marry Snape, anyway? Aragog, maybe?"

This in turn made Harry grin, because he had to think of the spider Hermione had charmed in Potions not that long ago.

Harry said: "It's true, you know, Ron?"

Ron seemed a bit disappointed when neither of his friends joined him in Snape-bashing. "Sure, Harry… Just imagine that!" Ron went into another fit of laughter.

When he'd calmed down, Hermione said: "So, this knowledge and developments are still with Snape, and no-one knows quite what they are, but it seems sure that they have not yet come to the knowledge of V-Voldemort fully. We don't know for sure, but we should think of them as highly potent, and possibly dangerous."

"But why won't he hand them over to Dumbledore?"

"Who says that he hasn't? The Headmaster claims Snape hasn't, but I for my part am sure that Dumbledore has got a pretty good idea what they are. Obviously, Snape has at least told Dumbledore about them, and their nature, right? I don't think Dumbledore has seen any use for them yet, from what he said. To me, the question is rather if there IS a danger that Voldemort will demand their completion now. Would he want to get them into his hands? Would we be to know? Snape can't teach such things now. He was not allowed to when he could have…"

Ron said: "They might be a kind of magic that Dumbledore despises, after all... Would be great if we knew what they are... Why not ask Fred and George? I believe they are about to have some of their own ideas patented, and will be at that office anyway, sometime soon – if they aren't right now…"

"They still won't come back, will they?" Harry interjected.

"No," said Ron in a decided manner, "as if they were mad enough to drop a business that is taking off like a Firebolt, and I will say again that I won't join your efforts to convince them to return to school, Harry. I hate to repeat that over and again!"

Ron had been adamant in this matter, and neither Hermione's sensible arguments nor Harry's imploring had changed his mind there.

"I'll owl Fred and George about the patents though, right this evening, or tomorrow!" Ron said.

"That is an excellent idea!" exclaimed Hermione. "Best to do it right away!"

She smiled admiringly at Ron, who blushed deeply. Hermione had not been very kind to him so far tonight.

After that telling exchange of looks – Harry found it telling, that is – Hermione continued: "What we want to know is not really what patents he holds, but whether they are potentially Dark, and would Snape use those inventions in his lessons if he got the chance?"

"Wow – now that does sound interesting, doesn't it!" Harry threw in.

"Would be nice to know what the git is going to teach in any case," Ron murmured.

"Yes, indeed. And I am sure Snape would try at least, if they are connected to the Dark Arts at all, because people would have to learn to use them anyway if Voldemort ever demands them to be completed and handed over which, as Dumbledore believes, he apparently will, and probably soon. Should that happen, Snape would have to comply to save his cover. I believe he said as much to Dumbledore and is, of course, right again. Just as much as Snape would never share his secrets with any other, well, rivalling teacher, he would not even marginally consider _not _teaching his findings himself – because someone has to, in case they ever come into the hands of the Dark Lord, and because he surely thinks no-one else can do it right and so on, you know him.

"Dumbledore won't have that, up to now... But it seems he is about to change his mind on this matter...

"So, it's not merely _that_ Snape, while still being a Death Eater of sorts, wants to teach Defence or something, but _what and how _he wants to teach: he would demand that his own, and other new or advanced stuff be included. He seems to be really up to it, informed and all, too, which would be great, don't you think? He'd be very demanding, and we'd be sure to learn a lot that might help us eventually..."

Harry nodded, if not very eagerly, and Ron shuddered, frowning and wondering when his two best friends had gone batty.

"And he can't possibly just teach us or Dumbledore's Army openly, because his cover'd be blown for sure, no matter what security measures we might be able introduce..."

This brought Harry and Hermione back to the present.

"But Snape is probably teaching the Slytherins already...

Ron yelped: "WHAT? That spider… The cheating traitor, that... Where's the problem, then? Let's learn them – those things!"

Any mentioning of advantages that house might have brought the youngest Weasley son to his toes, and for the time being, he seemed to have forgotten that it would have to be Snape to teach them.

Suddenly, Harry's anger welled up like it had not in weeks. Stuff Ron and his aversions!

"You've never cared that much with the others, like Umbridge or the fake Moody, and now you get into fits because of Snape, of all people, who's known to have saved me more than once! Dumbledore himself put ME in all sorts of danger deliberately!

"Harry... that might be because of Snape being a master of Occlumency..." Hermione tried to get him off those thoughts.

"Sure, and not because of me! How can he be so sure that the Dark Lord can't perceive what Snape does, and that there's no danger to him in teaching you, then?"

"He won't tell me!"

They pondered that.

"I guess we just have to take that as a given," Hermione finally said.

Eventually, she continued: "The Headmaster asked me what I thought, like I was a fully-trained witch, and I replied that I thought the inventions likely to come to light anyway sooner or later, even if Snape tried to keep them sealed and out of the hands of Voldemort. I said that I believe it to be better if people knew how to defend themselves, and also that such knowledge might be a great advantage if he – if Voldemort did not know that we know, and that we are prepared. That would likely blow Snape's cover at some point, but once Voldemort's about to find out, and if things have gone well for us, it would not matter much anymore.

"So, everyone is sure that the knowledge can't be kept from becoming public forever, or even much longer. Very likely, Snape will have to hand his inventions over to Voldemort eventually, with a bow. So, why not teach us and the order first?

"But I believe that Dumbledore thinks that if these potions and things became known too widely, and too soon, they would be very dangerous for everyone, strategically speaking. He'd rather have them hidden for now."

"Ooh, strategically speaking...," muttered Ron.

"Ron, stop picking at me like that, or I'll have you sent to Madame Pomfrey for a check-up for Spellolalia, ok?"

"Spello... what? And how would you do that, eh?"

"Remember, I'm a Prefect too, and things seem to be getting really serious with you in that respect of late!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at their antics.

"You two are really funny of late – Hermione, you seem to be developing a kind of a sense of humour – what's going on?"

To his surprise, neither rose to the bait or laughed, but glared, and both blushed a little. Ron even looked away.

Harry stared at them for some moments, and decided to drop this subject immediately. So that was it?

After a moment of slightly embarrassed silence, Hermione said: "Dumbledore does have a point there as well, obviously, but I don't think that's all there is to his hesitation to have this knowledge passed on."

"Well, what else could there be to it?"

Hermione said curtly: "No idea, it's just a feeling."

"Doesn't he trust Snape after all, then?"

"Yes he does, as much as is possible, I've told you why, and he has told me in so many words. Maybe he's waiting for the proper moment..."

After some moments of silence, she continued: "It seems to me that Snape doesn't agree with some of Dumbledore's concepts, as I said. Furthermore Snape, I think, does indeed believe that Draco Malfoy and his lot are not as bad as their parents, and might be prevented from becoming Death Eaters altogether..."

"Oh come on, he can't seriously believe that!" said Ron. They've lost their parents, and they'll want revenge! I would if I was them!"

"I know! I said that's what I feel might be another reason of his! Not that it is what I believe! If you want to know why he might think that, go ask Snape! But remember it is just surmise!"

Ron looked away, again blushing a bit, and seemed hurt by Hermione's abrasive manners.

"It does seem Snape's not willing to admit that they are of the same brand as he himself was. He was fully cured of it, or so he claims. I have no idea how that happened: The Headmaster said he could not tell me, but asked me again to trust his statement. Seems Snape thinks that he can sort of apply the brake and make them take other paths, maybe even make them see."

"Well, sorry, but I just can't believe that. Whatever Snape has done so far seems to indicate rather the opposite..."

"Please, Ron, don't get at me for this! Go tell the Headmaster, in this case! Neither do I, but this seems to be the story. I just said the same thing when he told me that! I'm just the owl bearing the message, don't take me down, please! This is what I gathered from Dumbledore, mostly between the lines. I am sure the Headmaster would love Snape to be right in that respect, and I do hope that Dumbledore will not lose the way himself by wishful thinking... But he never has been wrong altogether, so far."

Harry was amazed at Hermione's rather aggressive tone, but had to admit to have been hurt more than once by Ron's ineptitude to be serious, to distinguish between a story and the teller, his sulking when he felt that his ideas of right and wrong had been insulted, and his aggressive way to push his point with them when, in reality, he should have been pushing it with Malfoy, or Fudge, or someone else, but not with his friends.

"Do you really think that Dumbledore might mis-assess the situation, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, Harry… I surely hope not! But he looks so tired and old sometimes, lately…"

Ron stared at his friends. He could not imagine a world without the old Headmaster, no matter how he tried. Who would be there to fight Voldemort when things really got tight?

After some moments of ponderous silence, Ron found he could not take that train of thought any longer, and said: "Harry, you said that you would tell us..."

Harry took some time to make up his story. What was he to tell Ron and Hermione, and what was he to keep from them? He had not seen all that much yet, but it was not difficult to guess that Snape's woman had been killed. It was also easy to see that Ron was shaken by what he had heard.

"Dumbledore made me look into the Pensieve. He showed me Professor Snape as a young man. Snape did not look bad at all then – really, Ron, do keep quiet if you want to hear this! – and the Headmaster also showed me the woman he loved. She was really beautiful in an unusual way, and an artist. She was a quarter-giant, what they call" – Harry gave Hermione an apologetic look – "a stone-blood – not that I think it would have mattered to Voldemort. I think she got killed by Death Eaters, and that was what made Snape change his mind.

"You know, you really should have seen him! I almost couldn't recognise him. He was laughing, really laughing, can you imagine? His eyes were different, too, of an odd very dark green, not cold and black... Really, he was a completely different person. Snape did wear a ponytail, you know, like Bill."

"He did what...?" Ron gasped.

Harry smiled. That was more like it!

Ron's reaction after recovering was predictable. "Like Bill? Harry, are you mad? You must be completely off your rocker to even mention them in one sentence!

Well, they might have known each other, at some point or other, right? Have you ever asked you brothers about Snape?"

"No…"

"As I said, it seems that Voldemort somehow killed her, that woman Snape wanted to marry."

Ron said: "Then why doesn't Snape go kill Voldemort?"

In an awkward attempt at humour, Harry said: "Hey, remember, that's supposed to be my job!"

Hermione and Ron both turned to him abruptly, suddenly deflated and quiet. Neither of his friends thought this to be funny, obviously, and he felt like he'd hexed himself, reminding them and himself of the fact that he might only live, if at all, if someone else died by his hand if that prophecy was to be trusted, no matter how despicable or evil that someone was, or what Dumbledore had said about prophesies in general...

Harry inhaled deeply. "However, probably that's not possible for Snape, or he prefers other ways of exacting revenge. In any case, he's been a spy for Dumbledore and the Order ever since, and most efficiently so, it seems. The Headmaster really appreciates him, he told me that, too, but the trust thing seems awkward. He told me that, if HE knew he could trust Snape, Voldemort would know for sure that he couldn't. It seems that both You-Know-Who and Dumbledore are aware of the fact that Snape might double-cross them, but also that it can't be helped. And both seem to consider the information he gathers too important to damage the informer... Dumbledore told me that he might never let Snape in on Order secrets, so that he might glean a lot by himself which in turn would make the information he gives to Voldemort appear more real..."

Ron said: "Now that is weird! Hey, but Snape was in and out of Grimmauld Place all the time last summer!"

"Remember, that place is unplottable!" Hermione threw in.

"Oh, well..."

"However, I do think that the game Snape plays might not depend on secrecy as much as we've believed so far. Dumbledore said as much, like that the cards were pretty much on the table. Snape might even be able to sell Voldemort the lessons he gives me as an attempt to weaken me, and to find out, from my mind, what protects me... After all, Moody-Crouch taught us a lot, and Voldemort did not consider that treason either in hindsight, for all we know..."

Ron shook himself.

"Dumbledore hasn't told me..." Hermione said.

Harry swallowed, aware that me might not be permitted to tell any of what he knew in that respect.

"I don't think he will either, but Dumbledore's made clear that he'll try to make good by telling me as much as he can, and have me taught all that I need to know if he can't teach me himself.

"Don't be angry at me, but it seems that I'm exempt from the Order rules concerning age...

It's not only Occlumency, see... he expects me to work with Snape, eventually, and to trust him to get me close enough to You-know-who to..."

His friends were not envious in the least.

"Oh Harry, that is horrible!" cried Hermione.

Harry hung his head. On listing the facts to his friends, he felt that he, while still feeling betrayed, did not mind as much as he had last year, after... Was it that he was important in this game, and coming to realise as much? At the same time, the full weight of his responsibilites hit home. He would not think about that now.

Ron said: "The old man is not as kind as he plays.. but we knew that...

"I don't envy you, Harry."

He nudged his friend's arm.

"Just remember, we've been here with you so far, well, most of the time, and we'll be there for you in the future!"

Hermione nodded to that, and Harry felt his heart open up. He was greatly relieved to not have to face Ron's anger about some imaginary advantage bestowed on him once again without his asking for it.

After a while, Harry said: "You know, when I saw the Headmaster this afternoon, Silva Snape was there. She's Snape's sister all right, as I said before, and has been living with the Muggles –" Harry stopped dead. Where on earth had he seen her before! He cleared his throat –„…been living among the Muggles for 20 years or so, and she has no wand right now! Dumbledore seems to have it. She left Hogwarts in her time after only four years. And Dumbledore wants me to tutor her!"

"Oh Harry, but you've got so many difficult things to cope with already!" said Hermione.

"No, it's alright, Hermione, I like her. She's nice, and I think she was at school with my parents – she might be able to tell me things."

Hermione turned to Harry fully.

"Dumbledore said too, Harry, that he'd told you a lot about the past and your parents and would tell you more, to give you a better understanding of Snape's actions, and that he believed that you could explain most of what we wanted to know. If not now, then later, eventually..."

"Well, a lot… no. Not yet. I don't know all that much myself yet."

Harry suddenly felt an urge to go and see the Headmaster right away, to have him continue the story of the woman Idane, and know more about all of this.

Hermione spoke up again. "The Headmaster also mentioned that some part of what he told you and will tell you was sub rosa, and will likely be for the future. He demanded that we accept if you said you could not tell. I will do that. You, Ron?"

Ron felt somewhat passed over by this turn of events, so he merely nodded mutely while trying to process.

"You... you know personal things about Snape?"

Harry nodded.

"And I can't talk about them to anyone, I promised as much. But I can tell you a lot of other things."

"Now why haven't you, yet?" Ron was incensed.

"Because I only now have mere parts of the story, much of it does not make sense yet. I also promised not to talk about parts I don't understand..."

"So, it would be blabbing if you told your best friend?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, sincerely, Ron..."

Harry raised his hand for her to hold back a moment, and said: "Ron, you can leave in a huff now and pull a cushion over your head in the dorm like a real prat, or you can try to act sensible, keep your insulted feelings to yourself, and listen to what I may tell. I've asked you before to please bear with me in this matter!"

Ron stared at Harry in disbelief. Hermione did, too.

"You are talking to me like I was acting an idiot! This is..."

Harry was very impatient by that time.

"Well, you ARE acting like an idiot! Ron, for friendship's sake, do grow up and hold it, just once! What I was told made me feel that there's no room for this kind of... silly behaviour. And I will keep my promises!"

Ron still stared at him, his face becoming red. He apparently was unable to move or speak.

Hermione said quietly: "You have changed, Harry..."

"Yes, I have, Hermione, and only lately. It wasn't the threat to have to kill hanging over my head, but that was part of it. Please, Ron, do go ahead! Blow your top and say something that you might regret, that could destroy... Sorry, mate. But I am getting tired of this. I just feel my time is running short…"

Both Hermione and Ron paled at that. Ron actually looked away.

"I had to take in a lot, quite beyond the Snape issue. I am not permitted to tell you the really hard parts... I don't even know them yet, I think. What I have to listen to will get worse still, I am sure. So why don't you both grant me your friendship, like you used to? Just listen to what I may tell, and try to understand why I feel like this? You are my friends, my only real friends! I won't betray your trust!"

Harry was on the verge of tears, but he would not, at this point or any other, cry. This had to be seen through, and he would do whatever he could – learn; and love, and protect those two if it meant to push them away rudely, and to do what he must – even save Snape if that should become an issue.

Hermione nodded in understanding, looking as if about to cry herself.

Harry was sure she understood more of all this than he would have her.

Ron still looked decidedly cross and volatile, but did keep his mouth shut.

Harry looked at him. He would see this through, and he prayed that he would still have a friend when things really came to a head.

Ron shrunk back from his glare, lowering his eyes.

Ron had been a real friend in need so far. There was hope there that he would come to eventually. Ron always needed time – a thing that might become very precious soon, something neither of them might be granted… Harry was sure though that he could trust Ron, other than Percy Weasley, to know his stand, if for his family's sake, when things would come to a **head**.

He shook his **head**. What had become of him? Snape would love it!

Dumbledore would love it, too.

They left the Room of Requirement quietly, not talking much anymore that night beyond bidding each other a good sleep.

While they got ready for bed, Ron said: "You do have to have those Occlu-thingy lessons with the greasy git, don't you?"

He sounded weary, and rather as if he had accepted this for a fact.

If even Ron realised as much, Harry might as well go to Snape, prostrate himself, and get on with it.

"Yes, and I'd rather not, but Dumbledore says he still can't do it..."

Later on, it was always Hermione who explained what the general strategic implications of a situation were, although Harry took pride in the fact that he was able to make valuable suggestions occasionally.


	12. An Interruption

**12. An Interruption**

In the Headmaster's office, Silva Snape and Albus Dumbledore were looking after the leaving boy in silence

Once Harry had closed the door behind him, Dumbledore continued:

"It really is so good to have you back... I was much worried, Silva."

"You do know, then? I thought as much."

"Yes. I received an owl from the Ministry, bearing the message that a construction site in a Muggle business district of Greater London which was almost finished, and ready to be moved into, had been blown up in a devastating explosion the day before – blasted by a firepower that, this side of official war, surmounted anything that terrorists had ever used on an European city...

"I knew that it was the site you were working at, Silva. I was really worried."

"I am so sorry, Albus – I had no means of letting you know... I didn't even realise you knew where I stayed... And what with having to come back to meet by brother anyway... The pressure was mounting by the hour. I knew that I'd be leaving the Muggle world for good this time, and this was a chance too good to let go to cover my tracks...

"I wasn't even on the site when it happened. Some of my crew were, though… And there is, too, the really serious stuff I came to see you about – regardless of my personal situation..."

The old wizard smiled at her fondly.

"You've just as much presence of mind as your brother. You are right, of course, and I am very happy to have you back with us, on my side... it's too bad that Lucius Malfoy has met you. It might have turned out very useful to have someone believed to be dead in our ranks. Yet, by this meeting, we are in no doubt that they do know…

"So, what was that explosion like? Even I only get rumours from the Ministry of Magic these days. They don't seem to be sure that it was caused by Death Eaters. Don't worry about what I may know already. Can you shed any light on the events for me?"

"I think so. If they claim to even marginally consider it might have been Muggle terrorists, or an accident, they must be blinder still than I thought. But then, they only arrived there about six hours later – all traces of magic had evaporated by then. Muggle police had thoroughly obliterated whatever would remain by their site search... Also, I got the idea that there were some officials on that team who did all they could to obliterate any further evidence in danger of showing... I stayed well out of sight, but close enough to gather some evidence, as long as I could take it."

"How did you survive at all?"

"I'll tell you, sir, but let me finish off the rumours first. There was a Dark Mark over the area right after the explosion, but the Muggle officials did not make a connection, probably considering it to be some sort of advertisement, and a coincidence. It was big, but weak, fog-like, and vanished very soon. For all I know it was not even mentioned in the Muggle press who are always so keen on spotting unusual or mysterious sightings, the more so on sites of violent accidents... It seems that Lord Voldemort was undecided between inducing panic and merely wreaking havoc and causing confusion.

"I do think that some of Lord Voldemort's Muggle friends might have been involved…"

"Muggle police said that the explosives used were of an unknown type, if explosives it had been at all. Some Muggle papers claimed that there were no traces of explosive charges found, nor any shards or shrapnels, nor had there been gas pipes on the site. What a big surprise!

"Actually, the police have found traces of Muggle explosives on some metal pieces of the basement air shafts that they recovered elsewhere in the area, but from what I gathered, the charges were nowhere nearly strong enough to blow up the whole place. I believe that is what Voldemort used as a cover, and to confound the Muggles. They now seem to believe that by some accident explosive gases, like methane, had been building up in the basement, and that what was planned to scare the developers, or an act of revenge by an employer, got out of hand. I think they are looking for environmental activists, too.

"Of the site itself, nothing was left but a hole – somewhat bigger than the excavation for the five-story-deep parking space under it had been. You know, for their smelly cars. There were no traces left for the Police to draw definite conclusions from.

"Electricity and water supplies were disrupted most of the day in the whole neighbourhood for some square miles around and, until all gas pipes in that district were taken off the net, fires flared up in unlikely places. They had suffered from the impact.

"There were no clues to external influences or foul play of any relevant size and order, while official press releases spoke of a terrorist attack at first. But there were none of the usual letters of recognition from groups, known or unknown, terrorists or otherwise, internal or international, political enemies of the Muggle government or of the Ministry of Magic... I am sure the whole thing will be put down to construction mistakes, be followed up with one of those eternal trials, and the case closed on an accident of sorts eventually. Very likely, no-one will have to pay the families for damage done.

"The toll this took was high. So far, the count seems to run to more than 140 dead, 127 of which were identified as workers of the firms finishing the site. There will be some among the toll that I knew…I had no friends at work, most of my colleagues were a rough lot, yet… No-one deserves this…

Silva composed herself.

"The others are presumed to be passers-by, not all of whom could be identified yet, and another 19 persons are still missing, among them yours truly, I suppose.

"The papers say the on-site excavations will continue all through next month... Clearing all the affected area, which is several square miles large, will take months, according to Muggle officials. They are of course trying to pinpoint the source of the explosion. It will be, in my estimation, absolutely useless. The last paper I had I got on the train yesterday. So far, there have been no claims or confessionals whatsoever by possible perpetrators, as I said."

Smiling mirthlessly, Silva continued:

"I survived by my need to not only have a very late lunch, but a desire to have it in fresher air, too, or at least in a greener environment, at a distance from the site. I was in a small park some streets away when it happened. The explosion was tremendous, blowing windows out of houses even around the square I sat in. A hail of plaster and shrapnels of metal rained down around me when I hurried to get back to my work and the phone on the 17th floor to find out what was up, and you can imagine my shock when I reached the site... There was the Dark Mark up in the sky, fading already…

"The place was bristling with rescue personnel in no time, so I decided I was not needed. I mixed with the passers-by, and took my leave after watching for some hours in different spots, when I saw Ministry of Magic officials arrive. The Dark Mark took about a half hour to evaporate entirely. I saw no-one I knew, magical or Muggle.

"Luckily, I'd taken my bag to lunch which contained a change of fresh work clothes... Which are those that you see here now... I've always had everything in there I'd really need, just in case... I admit that a different set of clothes would have been a good choice. Those were blown up with the changing room on the construction site though, I am afraid…

Albus Dumbledore noted a twinge of hysteria in Silva's voice that he'd never heard before. The events must have shaken her profoundly – the Snapes were an imperturbable sort really…

Silva inhaled deeply and continued in a calmer tone.

"I'd been suffering from the urge to meet Severus increasingly, for days. Eventually, it became unbearable. I headed north unerring, like the needle of a compass points – so here I am."

There was a pause.

The witch continued: "So, as far as wizardkind is concerned, this was a clear enough warning, and with regard to its representation in the press, there is an obvious and massive cover-up by Ministries, Muggle or otherwise, Albus. I don't think many of those working there got it, not to mention Cornelius Fudge..."

The old wizard and the not-so-old witch regarded each other with sorrow.

Albus pulled something from a drawer in his desk and handed it to Silva. After describing the events much like Silva just had but saying that no indications of magic had been found, it stated that among the victims of this severe accident, and believed to be dead, was one Silva Snape. No other wizards had been detected, dead or alive, ex-, Dark, or otherwise. It looked official.

"Severus gave me this. It was issued within hours of the explosion, and sent to him by way of notifying him of the probable demise of a relative. Which is amazing, as you will agree."

"I bet he did hand it to you gleefully, right."

"No, Silva, that he did not."

"Neither will you be able to convince me that it darkened his mood in a way worth mentioning, or that he did shed a tear, Headmaster."

Silva glared at him, and Dumbledore lowered his head. She was much like her brother in some ways…

The Headmaster then pulled out another paper. This was a Ministry note charmed top secret. Since Silva would not be able to read it herself for that reason, so the Headmaster read it out to her. To her surprise, Silva found that the Ministry of Magic was not quite so blind as she'd feared. An attached note said that the whole thing, for a variety of reasons, was very likely You-Know-Who's doing, major indication being the sighting of the Dark Mark above the area right after the event and by thousands of Muggle commuters – most of whom seemed to have believed it to be some sort of advertisement for some upcoming spectacular event of some kind, and still did. It also stated that no other traces of magic had been found, meaning that the Ministry had no idea how the explosion had been brought about. This information was to be kept confidential at all costs, as the Ministry wished to avoid an outbreak of panic.

"I've alerted the wards of Hogwarts to the probability of your arrival, strongly hoping that you'd not be dead but had used your chance, and would come here, too... I was actually quite sure of both. I would have known, otherwise.

"Previous times, when you reported here, I thought I detected in you an increasing weariness of the Muggle world..."

They smiled at each other.

"You do realise what this means?"

"Yes. This was done, down to such details as having comparatively harmless charges of Muggle explosives placed in the debris, to show power to the Ministry – to proclaim absolute contempt of Muggle life… To let the wizard-Muggle relations departments on either side of the fence know... To pry them apart if possible..."

"Right. Only too right, Silva..."

They did not speak for quite a while, both lost in ruminations.

Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something. When Silva did not speak, he cleared his throat.

"But that is only part of the affair. There is another thing, too. Do you think, Silva, that Malfoy might have confronted you to let you know that he is aware of your connection to the site of the attack, and that he might try to pin some blame for the events on you? Why, do you think, did the Ministry of Magic declare your dead within hours of the attack? You may have been observing the spot. That particular construction site might have been chosen for just this reason… You do realise, dear, that you are a suspect, and might be wanted for questioning? Your flight doesn't help there either."

Silva blanched.

"You're... You are kidding, Albus! He can't…"

"You are mentioned in that note, Silva. So someone knew all along where you were, and that was no Order member. This does infer that Lucius Malfoy might know more about the matter than he should – and he's still in good grace with the Minister…"

"You think he might try to blackmail me?"

"Yes. And if he speaks up, the very least thing to happen will be the Ministry hauling you in to hear your account of the matter. Right now, I think, we can get away with just keeping you here and ignoring the situation, but they might get wind of this eventually… At some point, we may have to find that Muggle who introduced you to the worshippers of Voldemort."

"I've not looked at it like that… That declaration reminds me…"

"Of that of Peter Pettigrew's death, yes. Dead suspects are very convenient sometimes."

Silva shuddered.

"I am happy to know that the Dementors are not in the service of the Ministry anymore even if they constitute a threat to everyone now, but I wonder what else Fudge will come up with..."

Both wizards were unable to make anything of affairs beyond those facts at this time, but the future would likely tell, and both of them felt that this might turn out to be a tale they could do well without.

Silva sipped some wine, trying to compose herself.

"I'll go on, then," Albus said. "Two days passed without any sign of your showing up before I got that report, without any further remark, and I did start to worry...

"Intermittently, neither the Ministry's Emergency Squad nor the Muggle police detected any clues as to the cause of the explosion – no explosives in sufficient amounts, no further sightings of the Dark Mark, no letters of confession; and no call to his master for Severus, either. This paper is all I've got, and no other Order members, not even the Aurors, have had further information, or mere rumours, to add.

"I have to state that within those few days, your brother's unease became very apparent – he expected a message concerning your whereabouts, not believing in your death at all. I do think his greeting might have been a show of relief even…"

"Oh Albus, you just were not there! It wasn't, I assure you!"

The young home-comer was very aggravated by Dumbledore's apparent partiality to her brother.

"Just don't mention it, will you, please?"

The Headmaster remained firm. "I've means to make sure I know if Severus is in a state of unrest, in case he has to leave and can't manage to let me know in time. I assure you he was."

"Afraid of being called before his former master, more likely! Let's not, Albus."

"No. Sorry, Silva."

He smiled at her widely.

"So, welcome back once more to the wizarding world, and alive, Silva Snape!"

She returned a half-smile.

They sat in amiable silence, drinking to each other. Fawkes had settled on the high back of Silva's chair, and gone to sleep some time ago.

Eventually, Silva said: "It seems we can't avoid the subject of Severus, as much as I'd like to. My brother did unkindly point out that you might want to see me right away and would, unlike him, care indeed for the news I'd bring... As if I wouldn't know...

"He himself did not care at all when, and why, I went to see him first after all that time, and not you... 'As usual,' he said – this infers he knows that I've been around occasionally... Did you know he knew?"

"I never told him that you reported to me..."

"Of course you did not. But he knows," interrupted Silva.

"I suspected as much."

"What did you tell him?"

Dumbledore merely shook his head, eyebrows raised at her disbelief.

"You know that he's got his ways of coming by information – which is part of what makes him so valuable, a real asset for both sides. I share part of the tidings you bring but, just like with my other sources, I of course never reveal how I did come by them."

After a pause, Silva said: "I AM tired, Albus. I had to force my news on him... It is almost impossible for me to tell anyone else, but you have to know...

The old wizard nodded.

"I can see, Silva, that you do need some rest. How long did you take to come here? I guess you were unable to sleep?"

"True enough, sir. And four days it was, most of them on foot – one longer stretch by a Muggle train – that was where I managed to pick up some more magazines and papers –, that went in just the right direction, and another by car, hitch-hiking... My pain and unease increased all the time. I could even not make detours but had to go as the crow flies…"

"So it is time for him, isn't it? And for you as well…" Dumbledore was grave, but not overly troubled.

Their eyes met again, and the gentle smile of the old wizard seemed to soothe Silva. A bit of the destitution left her bearing. That was to be a momentary relief only though.

"You do know then what else brought me here so suddenly... It is the Calling, Albus... I am Severus' Younger Sister, to state the obvious, and I have been Called! I have never believed in this – rumour... I don't think our parents did, or Severus either! The last time it supposedly happened was about 350 years ago, long enough ago to be nothing but weird hearsay even among witches – even within our own family! Not that anyone wanted to talk about it anyway!

"I had to run here like driven, due north by northwest. I think I'd have found him anywhere in either world simply by running there – like a post owl... I could not stop once I had reached the Dungeons; I just had to get close to him!"

Silva tried to regain her composure, but making light of matter did not quite work.

"In the olden times, I assume, it was inconceivable of a lady of the Soniverirus not to be in possession of a broom, or to be unable to Apparate, or to find due assistance with magical transport, or to be at any distance worth mentioning at all to the brother her whole life pertained to anyway... I have never believed in those stories, as I said... I hoped to be spared – no – I actually never ever considered such a thing to be possible! I was sure it was all rubbish – in fact was sure it would never happen to me... Now it has..."

Silva did not cry, but she was crushed. Her agitated voice trailed off. The headmaster was shaken by the despair in it, and by her urge to escape this destiny.

The Calling, then. Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, his eyes closed. She had never been one to accept things given, even if there was no conceivable alternative to them… He hoped that she would not refuse this time – that would mean to lose her for good.

It was a Rite and tradition that would be considered barbaric by most everyone, these days... Ancient... Not that that made any difference, it seemed – it could not be broken. The spell was listed in books on Higher Magic as exemplary by its thoroughness and irrevocability, and for durability, without of course naming the victims…

"Have you gained Confirmation by him?"

"Yes... But it was not given deliberately, I made him... That is what sustains me right now, the force of it. Else I would not be here, talking to you. Oh, and how he hated it... I threw it on him... Severus will approach you about the – that family curse of ours tonight, too. I could not stop myself... I was starting to bleed internally..."

Silva seemed to be shaking with guilt and fear now, and this pained the old wizard more than anything else. There was nothing to be done about it.

The young witch controlled her panic and continued: "I did not know it would be so bad, Albus! Downstairs, in front of his classroom today, it would have killed me! I had to force myself on Severus! I had to do it, myself! I hate it!

"My urge and pain floored me in the corridor, after our first encounter. I shudder to think what the children must have thought! Harry was fair enough though… I don't think I could have hold out much longer…

"It was only by Peeves' interference that I could get close enough to Severus to make him Confirm, against his will."

Silva Snape sighed.

"I really, really hate it, Albus! Is there no way to stop it, so that we might be spared? If you don't know of any, no-one will. Can't you undo it, stop it? I am sure neither I nor Severus are too keen on continuing this particular bloodline... He even said as much to me! For good reasons, too... And never, ever, in this manner! Oh Albus, please help me!"

Silva Snape was frantic by now, her mood changing between desperation and something bordering on hysterical fits. This was very much out of character with her. It would pass, too...

The old wizard just looked at her, quietly, compassionate, and waited until she calmed down somewhat.

He said: "Yes, Silva, I do know about the Rite – and while very unhappy to say so, I am certain that the ancient magic of it cannot be broken."

"I... I had so hoped that you... Albus!"

"Not by me. Neither by an acting High King or any known corporeal authority. The Call will have to be heeded."

Silva looked as if about to break down.

"Severus said you might take care of it..."

Albus Dumbledore mutely shook his wizened head.

After a moment, Silva inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.

She decided to ask the question that bothered her most besides events.

"Do you – do you think the Rite could have been avoided before the Confirmation? Or if I had recognised the Calling early on for what it was?"

"No, Silva. The price would have been your life – and will be still in any case if you refuse the Rite – that is the one way out, a way that is never barred, do you get me? A terribly painful way though, I reckon, because the curse is build to keep the Younger Sister alive and… fertile by any means necessary. Should you succeed your brother's death would ensue. I am afraid I will not be able to tell him otherwise."

"Severus said you..."

Silva stopped herself in mid-sentence, realising it was no use. She was completely crushed now, and utterly exhausted.

"He does not want you around, now does he?"

"No..." Silva looked at the floor. "Not at all. And I do understand that. He has not until today forgiven me my running away, and what I come back with, finally, is worse...

"That dratted curse!"

In an attempt do change the subject, the witch said wearily: "Maybe Severus himself alerted Lucius to look out for me... Not that that would make sense…

Silva got into it. This was a point to be considered, after all.

"I am sure that Lucius did not fail to notice my restlessness and my impulse to head north when we met – I stumbled more than once when I was with him, and was hardly able to concentrate on his words, or follow when he led the way in a direction off my heading. This could have been deliberate, too – so, Lucius Malfoy of all people might have gathered that I've been Called. I am sure he could know about the curse, having been the closest thing to a friend of Severus' as a student – and being a Malfoy, living in the ancient tradition, in a manor with a library second to none but our own. He knows that Severus has no children, and I am sure the boys were very much interested in subjects like that curse…

"Even if no-one can know today what being Called looks like with a Younger Sister, he might have figured it out – I'm sure that Lucius knows quite more about the Calling than most wizards due to the connection our families have – he might have figured out what I was up to.

"I have no idea what the Snape Elder Brother, the heir, is told upon maturity, and what my brother might have passed on of that to his fellow Death Eaters… If I am right, Voldemort knows by now. On the other hand, I have no idea of what use all that could be to the Dark Lord..."

Dumbledore nodded ponderously. Fawkes flew over to settle on Silva's lap, cat-like, and wizard and witch sipped their wine in silence for some time.

"Albus – what can I do? May I still stay, now that you know? Be an assistant to – what was her name – Professor Sprout? I cannot go away, I know that..."

"My dear, I insist that you stay! Do not ask this again!" the Headmaster said, slightly worried about Silva's distress.

After a moment, she breathed deeply and let out a sigh.

Dumbledore exhaled, too, but with exasperation.

"You obviously will have to stay. Do you honestly believe I'd turn you away in days like these? I shall employ you, like I said I would. Your brother will have to abide by that. I do wish to repeat that I am very happy about your return, and can see only good coming from it, do you hear me?"

The old Headmaster waited until Silva finally raised her head, met his look, and slightly bowed her neck in acknowledgement. They both felt the faint relief creeping into her heart, diluting destitution.

When the Headmaster was satisfied with her acceptance of his words, he said: "So now that at least is settled."

Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling when he spoke, and his voice was firm. Those last words were very much an order: to leave the subject be for the time being, to stop worrying which never helped anyway, and to look toward the future in a composed manner. Silva had become one of the old Headmaster's charges; compliance was expected.

In a lighter manner, Dumbledore continued: "I'll see to quarters, and the assistance assignment for you will be settled immediately, too. It will be signed today. You need no excuses for your presence... I believe the head boy – respectively, head girl – quarters in the Slytherin dungeons are available, as these two are, this year, of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The room is quite close to Severus's own quarters, which should be convenient..."

Silva shivered, but nodded.

"You know where to find them?"

"I think so."

"So, if you want to clean up and change – you did not bring anything, did you?"

"Just what you see here... I want to burn those!"

"The closet there will cater you. Otherwise, ask an elf. If you loose your way, too."

"Thank you so much, Albus..."

The old wizard smiled at the woman before him.

"Do not worry anymore now, my dear Silva, but do have a bath and a change – you might wish to get some rest, too, after that ordeal of a journey here – and I would be very happy to greet you at our dinner table as a valued guest, for the time being. I want you to feel that you are more than welcome here, to me and all of us."

Silva Snape got up, smiling weakly.

"Albus, I do not know how to thank you for your heart-warming welcoming of me always, and all the support you are giving me."

Dumbledore moved around his desk swiftly and gave her a hug, which had become a kind of ritual between them whenever she left after reporting. This time, it gave Silva a feeling of coming home and being acknowledged and accepted for what she was that she missed anywhere else.

"So, this time, it is not goodbye, and I will be very happy to let you have your wand back soon..."

----------------

In the very moment Silva turned to leave, there was some commotion on the revolving staircase, then a sharp knock on the office door.

The door sprang open, and Severus Snape barged in without waiting to be called, his movements more swiftly abrupt and brusque than usual if that was possible at all.

He gave no sign whatsoever of surprise at his sister's presence or of noticing her, but said: "Albus, I have to have word with you, urgently."

The old wizard made his reserve at the interruption felt, but nodded.

"Severus."

Silva's exclamation held no hint of excitement or surprise either, but was merely the acknowledgement of her brother's sudden presence in the same room, and a demand for the same from him.

He did, at least, not pretend to not have heard, and turned to her fully.

"Ah, here is the harbinger, the dark crow before the storm – the scarecrow, should I say, considering the outfit? Still not cleaned up yet? Sometimes it crawls, sometimes it flies, but bad news are always at heel, are they not?"

The cruelty of his words was deliberate, and meant to kill.

A pause.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the intruder as if in expectation. He had to contain an impulse to hex his Professor, or smack him square in the face at the very least.

Snape's pose was one of contemptuous wariness or of waiting, as if ready to draw his wand in case his sister should attack him, but without any tension; he was merely not taking her serious in any manner. He denied accepting her presence and mission by that, but was prepared for everything that would ensue.

"You will, of course, Headmaster, stop these silly goings-on? It can't be allowed. She can't stay, that's impossible."

"She will stay, Severus, and that is final."

Snape did not look at his sister, but straight through her, just like he had when Silva had last seen him – like he had done during the final days before her flight almost a quarter of a century years ago, once she had made clear that she'd deny and fight him. No worse insult than this was possible, expressed with his entire wizard's power, and all of his bearing. To him, this equalled her presence.

But Silva Snape was not intimidated easily. She did not let fly at her Elder Brother, but ignored his demeanour in her turn: "My brother – spare me half an hour!"

Dumbledore hated the deference in the young witch's tone of voice, but she seemed to stand up straight enough.

Severus Snape snorted.

"Now?"

Silva ignored this, but stared at him. Obsidian eyes were probably resting on her now, without impact, not taking in anything and devoid of expression as true blackness must be. Maybe his look was focussed on some portrait on the wall behind her. It was impossible to say. Neither of the two did move for quite some time, glaring at each other unblinkingly. Like a draught, the Headmaster felt the strong flow of reading and occluding, and anger, run back and forth.

Dumbledore watched this scene, taken aback yet fascinated. That man had met and talked to his sister today for the first time in more than 20 years. She was his only close relative alive, and one he used to love dearly. Snape had received tidings of great importance to his benefit by her, yet he behaved as if he hardly knew the woman before him, and treated her with a contempt that was worthy of the Dark Lord.

At first, the Headmaster felt great pity for Silva. He intensely disliked Snape's disgraceful show of contempt as it happened, feeling to be an unbidden bystander. Also, he felt the strong wish that Severus Snape might relent and not be the merciless and bitterly unforgiving man he knew him to be; and a strong urge to shake him into acquiescence. Yet with growing apprehension, the Headmaster realised that the man's sister, though younger, lighter by far in build, colour, and bearing, and utterly exhausted as she was, did not relent herself in any way and was fully up to the challenge, something not many wizards alive could claim for themselves.

She had a strength of her own to match her brother's, something that was, in its own way, by no means gentler, or more accommodating and compliant, than the Potions Professor's power of will.

Dumbledore realized that Silva Snape stood her ground firmly, and would not need anyone's assistance to be a match for that dark and brilliant Master of Potions who, Dumbledore hoped very much, was an ally, now and in the future.

Students, Silva thought fleetingly, would probably have dropped dead from fright by now under that particularly intimidating basilisk's gaze, or turned to stone. She hoped he spared them that one... But then, his actual appreciation of her presence was not necessarily more comfortable. She knew she minded neither. He was Severus Snape, her Elder Brother.

After what seemed an eternity of battling minds, Snape nodded, curtly.

To the Headmaster, the room seemed to exhale upon the Professor's nod, or maybe it had been himself, or the two contestants – for a fight this had indeed been, a duel of wills.

"In about a half-hour, in the dungeons. Make sure to be punctual. May I speak to the Headmaster now, alone?"

He was curt, but almost as in courteous, after all. Just lacking a good half of the letters to the word, for the feeling, Silva thought distractedly.

"Thank you, my brother, and see you then..." She almost bowed to him.

Silva's servility disturbed the Headmaster greatly, almost making him cringe, but he was sure that it must be due to the curse that the Calling was.

Silva turned and slowly took off toward the door. Her exhaustion was palpable.

Neither of the two men spoke right away.

Taking in the Potions Professor's powerful presence before him, Dumbledore remembered how he had never understood that woman's acquiescence to this man who was her brother. He had marvelled at it so many years ago, and finally realized that this very deference of hers was one major reason why he still wished at times that someone got manners, or decency, or some deference, into the man as well – by any means necessary. Albus knew that Silva Snape's behaviour was owed in great parts to the peculiar relation between Elder Brothers and Younger Sisters in the Snape family, but that made no difference to his feelings – it rather strengthened his distaste. Why could not Severus, who was fully aware of the situation as well, show some consideration for his sister?

The Headmaster respected his Potions Professor's immense capabilities, and held him in high esteem. He even liked Severus Snape – at times, that was, considering him a friend, in a manner of speaking. But on occasions like these… The resentment that he felt rise again now might once have been part of the reason that certain students who had abused Severus badly when still a boy had not been punished... For injustice done… Old sins.

Even the boy Snape had already had an aura about him that made amiable characters cringe, and everybody else wanting to beat the shit out of him if they dared, to see that snotty arrogance destroyed, to hear him beg for mercy... They had not succeeded there. And this had not really changed: no amount of torturing applied by the offended or, for that matter, the allies he'd once chosen, had changed the man, or made him more personable.

Silva Snape very likely was the only person who loved him unconditionally, and would do so forever, and did not feel offended or intimidated by him – at least, not all of the time... She surely had suffered enough by that arrogant Elder brother of hers in other respects.

The lucidity of Dumbledore's momentary dislike of the wilful boy which he seemed to remember before him, and the exact same thing which he appeared to feel right now toward the man, the powerful wizard that boy had become as he'd promised he would, amazed himself. Dumbledore realised that this polarisation, this highlighting of emotions in others that Snape's presence invariably brought about, was actually an asset that had turned out to be most valuable already…

"Severus, I do not wish you to bid my visitors leave my office."

His Professor stared at him – not through him, as he had done with his sister, but directly and defiantly –, and was clearly considering an answer, but did not speak up. Never apologise...

When Dumbledore remained silent, Snape eventually said: "Right – so she's back again. Not for good, I do hope? I can always tell with you, Albus, when she's been here. She changes your disposition towards me more than anything else. I must appear truly hateful by comparison."

A plain statement. The Potions Professor now looked at the floor, shuffling his large feet.

Dumbledore stared back at him, a little fazed. So Severus had indeed known, all along, just like Silva had said and he himself suspected. And was he fishing for compliments, in a situation like this?

Probably not. Severus Snape had spoken without emphasis, with utter disregard whether he was really despicable to someone or not, or what Dumbledore's or anyone else's judgement or opinion of his person and behaviour might be. Yet his words reflected the old Headmaster's thoughts so precisely that he almost felt caught.

"I must ask you to not allow this! She can't stay; nothing but trouble will ensue."

Dumbledore wondered if Severus Snape did not understand the nature of the Calling himself. This would be unusual. Severus was demanding his own death and that of his own sister… The Headmaster thought that his Professor was probably so very much distressed by the course events had taken that he needed time to face the facts. That he was as averse to the going-on as his sister was plain.

Severus Snape also spoke as if his sister was not present at all any more – which Silva would not have been indeed, had she not stopped in her tracks on her way out when she heard Dumbledore address her brother so harshly. With a faint feeling of anger, Silva took in the arrogance of her brother's implicit assumption that he could not possibly have interrupted anything of import between them by his intrusion.

The Potions master spoke again. Still there was none of the usual bile in his tone, if there was in the words.

"You do realize that her loving presence worked as much toward getting me tortured by my schoolmates as did her attempts to stop and to get them off my back, don't you, sir?"

'Back to sir, then, Severus?' Dumbledore thought. Well, he could be formal, too, if that was what the time was. He glanced at the big clock. It was indeed.

"That was in no case her purpose. You know that. However, Professor, that is not and was not up to me to judge. And it was a long time ago, too."

"Aah."

A drawn low sound, silky and smooth, not giving away much besides the reason for its existence, which was indeed telling enough in itself. So much disappointment and bitterness and unforgiving hate – self-hate? – in the man!

The Headmaster would not have it.

"Since you have successfully finished my meeting with your sister, you might as well go on and tell me what brought you here in such a hurry. It must be urgent, I gather, so you might want to make it fast."

Silva could not help but watch that exchange utterly fascinated, but feel, too, that she should have been gone from the Headmaster's office right away. Without a sound, she slipped out now, before the Headmaster would again acknowledge her presence. She had never seen the old wizard act harsh like that. It was flattering to think that it had been on her behalf. Yet she could not help but feel hurt for her brother who'd been on the receiving end, and justly so. The Headmaster would not know how he hurt him, but she had read the pain in Severus like in an open book… Silva shook herself. She must indeed be mad to even consider pitying him! The bastard! This all was part of why she'd run away, too: not being able to help feeling part of what he felt. She would practice her Occlumency again – that used to help some, at least.

"Has my wretched sister told you why she came this time?"

Dumbledore nodded, replying: "Because of you, to cut it short."

Severus Snape stared at him.

"That is not the correct way to put it, I think, Headmaster."

Still not back on a first-name basis, are we...

"Which would that way be, then? It is one rather adequate way to put it, in any case."

On those words, the door closed behind Silva, and the stair spiralled downwards, taking her with it.


	13. Quarter Making

**13. Quarter-making. Meeting Draco.**

Back down in the corridor, in front of the Headmaster's office, Silva's heart started beating hard.

Her brother had, after all, agreed to meet her – even while he, in the meantime, tried to behave as if everything was quite normal – he, his nasty old self, and she, a mere stranger of the more obnoxious kind...

It was silly to feel as excited about this meeting as if it was a first date with someone one had a crush on, but then, it had been about 25 years... No use worrying, Albus was right, as usual.

Harry Potter seemed to have grown up nice enough – what with all the worries that he might be spoiled by the fame and everything. They seemed to have been quite unnecessary. Silva still disagreed with Dumbledore's decision to put him to grow up with the Dursleys. Basic physical well-being was not all there was for a child, and even that had been lacking. She, and most of the other wardens, had been worried eventually by the thought that the Dursley treatment might damage or break Harry Potter irrevocably.

But the boy seemed to have survived even that, and seemed, while being a bit thin, to have made his way. He was lively and intelligent, and none of the ordeals he had had to go through seemed to have injured him gravely. His personality radiated early strength, benevolence, and equilibrium, with a becoming hint of arrogance. Silva was quite looking forward to be tutored by him, and, probably, in her turn, teach him some, too.

She also knew of her Brother's attitude toward the boy by what the Headmaster had told her, and disliked that utterly.

Oh well, she could not seem to get that brother of hers out of her mind... Dumbledore had implicated that Severus had closed up to kinder influences, and become a truly hard man since he had lost his love…

What change would that be anyway in his attitude to her?

The woman Severus had been with – now what had been her name? Silva could not remember – had been a great artist, and very successful with both Muggles and wizards. She had seen one of her performances, and loved it, but never bothered to find out what her brother was up to there – for fear, to be honest, that it was Death Eater business, and for fear of being recognized by him or his Death Eater pals, of course. Eventually, that woman had mysteriously vanished and Severus had, about a year later, come to the Muggle world himself, and even tried to find her... He'd gotten pretty close, too, but she had managed to avoid him. And she'd be darned if she told him that!

This had been a long time before Silva started gathering intelligence for Albus, long before the old wizard found her himself, even, and made her a warden. Word had been that Severus had himself taught at Hogwarts before breaking his wand, but that their parents would not have it.

For a fleeting moment, Silva pondered the old Headmaster's second thoughts on having her tutored by young Potter, like providing the boy with a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and an idea of how to trust his Potions Professor, but decided she'd not mind at all. She had liked the boy right away then, and found she still did today.

Harry would likely want to know a lot about his parents and their times, too…

Silva wondered about her own behaviour today. She had not been that submissive toward her brother since quite some time before his coming of age, she remembered – probably never after she was admitted to Hogwarts herself... Yet, she had never felt fear of him, or compelled to raise to his baits, or even take the obvious insults for what they were. It just had not mattered...

But today, right from the first moment... The things he had said – as if it all was her fault! She felt how she got angry now still, like she had become angry a long time ago when he had demanded her trust and obedience in return for nothing but the good chance of being taken, one way or the other, by his dirty lord Voldemort... That anger quite revived her.

She had realized even then that he had been taking beatings by schoolmates for her diffidence towards him, just as he had stated, and had stopped her behaviour toward him, with great difficulty and pain. Well, that had been one reason to leave, among other things. But had it not been for her, there would still have been hassle for him – because of what he was of himself, because of his arrogance, his reticence, his experiments... That general air about him of being special. But Severus WAS special – to her, in any case. It had been his way to handle her affection mainly that made things happen to him. Other boys had had younger sisters at school who liked them, even adored them, and never got beaten up for that.

Not that she had missed any of it in all the years of being away, though. Losing or leaving it had been like having one's hair cut, maybe, by comparison – nothing really to be missed, nothing really gone, nothing irreplaceable that wouldn't grow on one again... Yet never those tips again…

She did not feel confused, but the strength of her anger at his self-righteousness, and unquestioning demands, his off-handed giving-away of her life, and also her unbent feeling of deference and love towards him had never left her, still amazed her. This was all part of her, obviously, yet it felt strange at the same time. Mostly, it seemed to result in her baiting him...

If he still hated her so much, how could she be hoping for his misdemeanour to let up? If it did, would anything really be different, and in which way? It had been, for all she know, like that with her family for centuries – Elder Brothers and Younger Sisters were connected so closely somehow that surprise at an unexpected encounter, or some such emotion, was just not a given option – it would have been like being surprised at one's own image reflected in a mirror. They knew what each other thought whether they liked it or not.

Silva thought that the hate of that mirror-view in particular could have been and might be still the main reason of her brother's harshness. There was never just one reflection in a sense, no privacy. Twins were not that close.

The dungeons, then. But meet Severus where, precisely? She was not sure where his office or quarters were, never having been there before, and decided that she'd wait by the classroom. For a second she thought of stopping by the kitchens for something to eat, or of taking a shower, but found that her hunger had gone, and that time would be lacking.

Utterly exhausted, she slowly trudged along toward the dungeons.

But what the hell – he might as well wait some, too! More than 20 years and not a word of welcome! She called for an elf, not sure if that would still work – but it did. The elf wore a fairly clean blanket with the Hogwarts coat-of-arms in lively colours, and looked decent and official enough, for an house-elf.

"Please show me my quarters, will you? I believe the Headmaster has instructed you?"

The house elf mutely shook his or her head.

"O dear... We were interrupted... I believe it's supposed to be the Slytherin headperson's quarters... I definitely can't walk around here any longer in these rags... So there would be no clean clothes for me to change into in the closet there either, I assume?"

The elf shook his or her head again, still not speaking.

"Would you know where those rooms are? What's your name, anyway?"

"Hookums, Silva Snape, miss. Hookums knows the rooms, miss."

"So you do know who I am... See any chance to find me a place to clean up, and some fresh clothes my size, so that I'd look presentable within 30 minutes or so, Hookums?"

"Hookums does, Silva Snape, miss. Follow me. I will bring miss to the empty head boy quarters of Slytherin house, and find some garments, as surely Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster," – now there was some mix of adoration and bliss in the small creature's voice at saying that name, Silva thought – "will soon issue an according order, Silva Snape, miss."

"Thank you so very much... Merlin, am I tired.. And maybe, Hookums, some food? Just a couple of sandwiches and some tea, possibly?"

"It will all be set when we arrive, Silva Snape, miss."

And so it was.

A tub had already been filled with some warm, golden, perfumed delight upon her entering, the predominant arome being of arnica to soothe minor scratches and scabs, and revitalising rosemary oil. It proved absolutely irresistible after the strain of previous days, so Silva, knowing this to be unwise, slipped into it with boring premonitions of some sort of nastiness, or impending punishment, by her brother for being late at the back of her mind – yet she did not hesitate for one moment. Groaning with relief, she soaked. The tension of the days before washed off her, as did the premonitions, and she felt her muscles slacken, her utter exhaustion finally leaving. Great herbs in this tub... The last few days had indeed been bad!

Tea and food, and all fresh, on a tray bridging a tub filled with some ingenious, relaxing and very refreshing, bath mix... perfect! A shame to get out... This was luxury of a kind that she had only very rarely enjoyed in the Muggle world. At times, she had had to count herself lucky if her apartment had a box shower to itself, and she not been forced to use common bathrooms, generally of questionable hygiene and cleanliness, across some corridor, with slots for coins to order very limited trickles of very poorly-heated water...

She pondered her life. Not a success story, but no waste either. It was hers, and se regretted not a bit of what she'd done and seen. It could have been easier in many respects... Well, who wanted easy, anyway...? Presently, she must remember to get out of the tub...

Silva Snape pondered her fate. Severus Snape was Silva's senior by two years, and he had loved her dearly, treated her kind enough most of the time – until, one day, during his sixth year at Hogwarts, and shortly before his coming of age, their father had made it known that he was decided to introduce him to Lord Voldemort upon Maturity, and have him initiated into You-Know-Who's fold.

Severus had been enthusistic then. Somehow, all that had suggested a kind of welcoming gift to the Dark lord, too...

No-one else in the family – well, in this particular bloodline, if that was only some rather old aunts even then – had considered joining Voldemort. They had, like the former High King's clan, chosen not to take sides at all.

When she was a little girl, she had asked her mother once why that was, why they had joined, and mentioned the proud history of the Soniverirus. Her mother had yelled at her for impudence, and told her father. The punishment had been most severe. She still thought that this one event had done much to get her into Hogwarts. The Snape girls usually were educated at home privately, sometimes by more than one professional teacher and, sometimes, like she had been until then by her granddad, by a highly capable relative. This was not necessarily a disadvantage at all, depending very much on the choice the parents made as to subjects of teaching, and teacher's personalities.

That had been before Tom Riddle had started paying visits to the Snape's home. He had become a friend of the family, if someone like him could be called a friend. Riddle might have been her father's master even then, but he obviously had felt honoured to be invited to places of wizard renown like Wayward Manor, and their London home. Riddle had by then already taken on the name of Lord Voldemort, but still operated under his old name as well – the identity of the Dark Lord had not been disclosed yet, if it was suspected by some.

The first time she had met Tom Riddle had been in her summer holiday, after her second year at Hogwarts. Riddle had then looked to be in his late twenties, but must of course have been somewhat older. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life – and all her travels in either world had not shown her any match to him in that. There had been a light of his own about him, of incredible power and determination. He had been a tremendous orator. No-one who listened to him could remain unpersuaded. No-one who met him for the first time would have remotely considered him to be the impersonation of evil that he eventually turned out to be.

He was not beautiful anymore now, she understood.

Riddle had asked her parents about her, suggesting marriage should time come, and been told what was appropriate of the family traditions. Later though, once affairs were cleared, they would if course be greatly honoured if he'd still... She herself had been hopelessly infatuated with him, and his offer to marry her had been a source of pure bliss. Silva had been about 13 when that had happened and, while she had feared something about him and not liked his smell, had had a real crush on him. Teenagers, as her brother would surely say.

Granddad though would have nothing of it. He had held nothing but contempt for Riddle from the first moment, not only because the man was a half-blood – and because of what he told Silva hurt her, she had just handed on his words to her brother, who had not hesitated to tell their father. Another belting, another good reason for Hogwarts, if from an opposite direction... It seemed that there had been a huge fight between her father and her Granddad about her future, which had ended in her going back to school, but Granddad had stayed in the manor, and she had still been allowed to be with him during her holidays.

Silva'd definitely have to get out of this glorious bath now, and revelled in the thought that there would be more like this whenever she pleased, at least as long as she stayed at Hogwarts. She decided to make use of it while it lasted.

Her brother had been as jealous of her crush on Riddle as he was to be displeased by her contempt for their parents' allegiance to the Dark wizard later. She, like most people, had at that time not known that Riddle and the Dark Lord were one and the same person. Her parents had instructed her not to mention Voldemort to Riddle under any circumstances, so there had been no mishap that would have illuminated that matter. When she'd finally realized what Riddle was, after a big event at the Malfoy's where Riddle finally and officially became Lord Voldemort, at the height of his power, her horror and disgust again had not pleased Severus. That had been about a year before her brother himself...

Silva had shared her brother's craving for knowledge, and knew that he'd delved deeply into the Dark Arts, with the aid of their father, before the age of twelve, but she could never understand how someone so proud, so brilliant, how someone she adored so much, would ever wish to bend his knee to someone like Tom Riddle, let alone allow himself to be marked by him. Never had one of the Snapes ever played someone else's game – their only attachment and loyalty had forever lain with the High Kings, and the good of the land and the wizarding world.

She had told her brother many times what Granddad had told her about that man, and never effected anything but anger.

Severus's actions during her last year in school were a miracle to her to this very day. She considered them a particular disgrace to the family, regardless of their parents' actions and affiliations, and not paying Severus deference as the Elder Brother had not been much of a pain anymore by then. He had slapped her face when she told him so, an action unheard of in the family history which must be attributed to Lord Voldemort's influence.

Not much later, he had tried to hand her over to his newly-found master. She had only managed to get away by some flattery and a lot of her own speedy magic when it happened. She had been expecting and fearing the event for weeks, and met her preparations, but when it came about she had had less than an hour to run and hide... Silva still was not sure how she had managed to escape. Maybe Dumbledore had helped her in some manner unknown to her, regardless of what he had said to convince her to stay when she told him what she feared to happen.

Her deference and her baiting had, elusive combination that they were, always managed to elicit any amount of bile from her brother... She had sent her wand, unbroken, to the hands of Dumbledore, without any comment.

Musing, pondering the steps that had led her to where she was now, Silva got dressed, lost in thought, and in utter disregard of what she put on. She had to rebutton the dark green blouse three times, and did leave out the school tie, but put on the dress robe the house-elves had lain out for her. Very dark green, too, which would be fine for dinner as well, so she might not need to come back again before that.

-----------

Still lost in thought, she wandered off to find the classroom. She was late by about 20 minutes now – her bro would just love that. Not that she cared, chance was that he'd have made her wait anyway.

But Professor Snape was not there at all, and the dimly-lit room appeared to be empty. It seemed that the classrooms were left open when classes finished, but Silva did not want to enter. She decided to stay outside, and leaned in the frame of the opened door, waiting.

After a moment's time, she realized that there was some little commotion inside, outside of her range of view, that indicated someone trying to move about quietly. That, surely, would not be her brother?

She walked inside some steps and, from behind a column, perceived a pale blond boy in Slytherin garb, rummaging around in some cupboard filled with jars and boxes, very likely the stock of ingredients for classes, while trying to make no noise. Silva leant to the wall, motionlessly observing these activities.

When he did not seem to find there what he was looking for, the boy cursed under his breath and turned toward a door in the back of the room that probably led to her brother's private storage space.

As he lifted his hand to give the door a push for a try, he looked back toward the entrance to make sure that no-one was watching. He did not seem to notice her at first and turned back to touch the knob, but suddenly, upon realizing that, unexpectedly, someone was indeed watching him, gave a start that was rather comical and very funny to perceive. What she had seen of his face had been enough to show her that here was a Malfoy at work and, hence, very likely, Lucius's son.

She thought of clearing her throat in a menacing manner, but decided that that would have been a trick good only in advance of the shock of discovery. So she just waited, arms folded.

When the boy did turn fully around after a moment of recovery, she noticed a look of relief on his face that annoyed her. Silva realized that it had to be due to the fact that, in the first instant, he must have mistaken her for her brother. He was wary though, and he'd better be, she thought, disappointed a little.

"Erh – uh-oh... I..."

"A Malfoy, obviously, I can't be mistaken, regardless of the lack for words. You must be Draco, Narcissa's son – you look it."

"Erh... yes... see, miss, I was..."

"I do not care at all what you were but, considering your bearing, it obviously was not whatever you should have been – you should be out of here right away, as I do expect my brother – Professor Snape – to arrive any moment now, and he is likely to be in a most foul mood, my boy."

She need not tell the brat that the foul mood would be caused by her presence at school, and directed at her, did she? No-one could possibly know in advance the turn that Severus's spilling of bile would take, in any case.

"I should think, furthermore, that whatever it is that you are looking for will be locked in his office, tightly sealed. The more interesting stuff always used to be."

"Well, but he..." Draco stopped dead in mid sentence.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

What kind of ploy was that?

Draco did not say another word.

"He's like that, the dear Professor, likes baiting his students – but he does keep a close watch on the more costly and dangerous stuff, as you will surely know... So, what were you looking for here, anyway?"

The blond boy's eyes had narrowed which let him, to Silva's eyes, look like his father very much, and he had quite speedily regained his composure. Surely, being Lucius's son would be a test to everyone's abilities of recovery... Slender, fairly tall, but not yet fully grown, exuding arrogance and snottiness – so he did have a good share of that particular bearing. Upbringing, some might call it. There'd be fight, then, if Silva was not mistaken. Draco's hair was short which lessened the likeness to his father a bit.

This boy had of cours, seen her too when she had crashed the Potions lesson today. Perhaps it was he that she owed one for that remark about Muggle slaves she vaguely remembered overhearing.

Right now, the brat gave a tiny ironical bow, by it expertly undoing all they had said so far: "Ah – Miss Silva Snape, I believe? I never thought I'd meet you in ... the flesh. My father has told me about you."

A pause.

"Oh, has he indeed?"

What was that about? Silva'd be damned if she reacted to such doubtful courtesy. Arms folded and still leaning to the wall, Silva gauged the Malfoy offspring calmly – while he, vice versa, did not seem to bother with that. What his father would have told him was quite obvious by now, and to be seen reflected in his pale eyes, easy to be read.

Slowly, she spoke, showing him the full intake of his words, his demeanour, and some of the contempt she had for Lucius:

"Has he indeed? I suppose that is an honour?"

"I should guess so" – Draco Malfoy took the bait – "of course, he mentioned you as a particularly repulsive example of treason. Someone... something like you should better be kept quiet about, I think. You are the one who refused to give up yourself to You-Know-Who, in disobedience to an Elder, thus putting your own brother into disregard with his master, and in great danger, and became, by that, a disgrace to your noble family, if not to all of the pureblood community..."

None of it hit home, yet was rather revealing. These must precisely be Lucius own words. No trace of originality or creativity in that boy? The father then was overpowering. Whatever there might be of some sort of personality in the son was buried beneath the father's will. She sensed no real Draco anywhere... and felt sorry for him, but only for a second. No-one deserved sorry, not even a Malfoy.

Draco had had enough sense though, considering his carelessness when they had first spoken, to realize the import of the phrase about her Elder, which would just suffice to serve as a brazen and extremely thin varnish of righteousness, in case someone should listen in... Well primed here, but not there, she reckoned.

Meanwhile, Draco continued:

"Worse, you relieved yourself from the wizarding world, or rather it of you, to the world of the Muggles of all places in cowardly flight, thus creating for yourself a fate worse than almost any other. A well-deserved punishment for one so perversely inclined... If it was at all a punishment for a degenerate creature like you... You have even given up the wand, I understand?"

Some English that boy spoke! He tried to hide his contempt and fear by keeping an even voice, trying to cut by the words he chose alone. He sure was brazen, she had to grant him that, reckoning her being his head of house's sister, and he did not know what she would or could do. There was no respect in him, and however much she usually hated the idea of frightening young ones, she'd love to put the fear of Merlin into this brat. Little Scumbag!

At the same time, Silva did feel rather amused. That sneer was an exact copy of his father's, the attitude as incomplete yet as Lucius's had been at this age. Well, Draco surely would develop a style of contempt of his own, eventually...

"Does my brother – your godfather, after all – know that you think and speak like that of his family? Degenerate... And what does he think of it? I do believe you owe your head of house a little respect, at least..."

She let that sink in, but the boy did not flinch. A soft spot of Severus's, this godson of his? He did not talk back anymore, though.

Silva went on, using the breach.

"You should know, at your age, my boy, that the wand has to be given up. or is broken, upon leaving the wizarding world... No going there with it unless you are a member of an appropriate Ministry of Magic department, or an emergency squad... And then, you are really sure that I need a wand to do some weird things to a little sneak like you, aren't you?"

That did it. She had Draco Malfoy's full attention now.

"Neither would you ever dare to ...relieve yourself of Voldemort's service, should it come to that, I am sure – no gut in you, nor bravery. And wanting to relieve yourself of that service, you are sure to, everyone does eventually – even if they desire to serve the Dark Lord well. Must be your turn soon... when do you come of age? All your daddy's copy... Did you ever stand up to your father?"

Silva spoke quietly, but hit the mark like she'd meant to. What she'd said was meant to hurt in more than one way, also. She really wanted to crack that little shell – such attitude as Draco had shown her she would not have from a boy, particularly not a Malfoy – or any man, coming to think of it.

Moving in Draco's direction and noting with satisfaction that he backed away from her, Silva continued:

"I can vividly imagine what else Lucius will have told you about me, out of hurt pride – or vanity, more precisely, and also that you'd believe all of it unconditionally. I was less than your age, but I did act for myself. If I had not declined you father's hand – that is, his kind offer to escort me to Voldemort in person, in order to be able to later collect the left-overs and scraps for his own use and, I have reason to presume, by that getting himself an obedient pureblood wife – maybe have some fun as a little advance, as well, as neither of that was at all above him, you know? – I might be your mother now, Merlin save me, instead of that meek, thin-blooded Narcissa – really, I shudder to think!

"And, oddly, I somehow did get the impression that the great hater of Muggles extraordinaire, Lucius Malfoy in person, seems to be about to defect to the world of the despised mudbloods... Now that can't possibly be true, can it?"

Silva shook her head in mock confusion about such an absurd notion.

At her words, Draco gasped in surprise, either not knowing his father's whereabouts, or taken aback that she should know of Lucius's plans, but gathered his composure at an impressive speed. He was not without grace either, that one.. Not used to have some of his own poison though, apparently... Draco had cringed appropriately, too, at her mentioning of The Name.

Silva did not relent yet, wanting to let him have it all, so fronts would be clear once and for all.

"And, I assure you" – Silva lowered her voice, not having spoken loud to start with – "I assure you, Draco Malfoy, that were I your mother, you would not even remotely have considered to approach me, or anyone else, in the way you just did – not for your life; and you will consider an apology right now.

"And that done, shouldn't you run? Your so revered head of house is due here any moment now."

And if he didn't apologize, or run?

Silva was sure he would, Draco was not of such mettle. It would show him how to use some strength against Lucius, in any case...

Yet, young Draco did flinch, but held his ground, while he now looked as if he'd rather be elsewhere, she noted. Silva was impressed. This was more than there was to be expected of someone who had one Lucius Malfoy for a father. Draco looked a lot like Lucius from most perspectives, with the better parts of Narcissa thrown in for good measure. He would turn out to be a real pretty one in a couple of years for sure, a heartbreaker. A woman's man, or a weakling? Looking merely like Narcissa, and not only for a boy or man, would have meant disaster completed. It would have been some punishment – that confused vain prettiness...

So, here was a lucky one.

There was some substance too, but would it ever hold up to Lucius' intrepid stance? Also, there was something withdrawn and secretive about this boy Draco that was not easily pinned down, and did have nothing to do with present events – something glib, and a bit rat-like, or rabbity, too, yet cute... Ferretty was the word.

Draco Malfoy had very obviously not the stature or scope that his father had – not that raving urge for power, the recklessness that could be sexy with Lucius; nor the hunger for life that was the latter's most attractive trait – if it, for once, was not directed at the violation of others. Nor did Draco, Silva was quite sure, possess his father's intelligence or cunning. Draco very likely lacked the properties which had made Lucius Malfoy some match even for the Marauders in school, for Potter and Black… Silva heart jumped a little at the though of irresponsible Sirius, always acting on impulse, who had made her laugh so many times unless he was after her brother, which he had stopped or at least toned down a bit sometimes at her pleading... He was dead… She did not want to think about that now.

It seemed to her that under all this encumbrances, Draco might be a nice enough and entirely decent young chap – if he'd just let be...

Malfoy the younger had turned all red under her scrutiny by now, Silva noted with satisfaction, and licked her lips. The boy looked away like he ought to, blushing some more still. But he was not in the least considering apologies:

"I do not have to take treacherous talk against..." Draco stopped himself at the last moment, "that kind of insults about my father, or myself, from a creature like you – mudblood-lover! My dad was under the Imperius all the time, by the Dark Lord, when he did – these things, and you know that, too!"

That had come out too hastily to be convincing, as if it could be at all, but impressed Silva somewhat no less. Draco here had gained back his presence of mind quicker than she'd have thought!

A moment later he brushed past her with a withering look and left the dungeon in a flurry.

"Oh, sure as dirt he was," Silva said to a receding back.

That boy had been so desperate to get away that he had not realized that his last sentences could have been a poison arrow of the meanest kind if aimed with deliberation – that was if she'd cared which she didn't; but Silva was sure Draco would notice if he recapitulated this exchange, which she was sure he was going to, and more than once. To report the pleasing bits to his father, for instance.

Dashing around the corridor corner, Malfoy the younger walked briskly into his godfather and teacher, knocking the wind out of him, and Silva Snape had the doubtful pleasure of earwitnessing some muttered curses, and foul excuses, made in a tone of anger restrained with difficulty, and of slightly breathless admonitions of a snide sort, by her brother.

She noticed that Draco, who must definitely be afraid now judging by his voice, neither lowered his volume nor did he suck up to her brother. Had she been mistaken in her assessment? That would be rare...

And Severus did let the boy go too, without taking as much as one point off his own house of Slytherin. His godchild... A weak spot, then.

Now that was to be expected, wasn't it?


	14. Idane's Death

**14. Idane's Death**

On the following day, Albus Dumbledore let Harry know that he would find the time to see him after dinner.

"Good evening to you, Harry, and welcome. Tea's set for you by your customary chair. Do sit down, dear boy. I am afraid that tonight will not be all that agreeable as we shall have to deal with Idane's violent death. Our previous talks were rather a pleasant pastime by comparion..."

So it would be tonight, then. Harry braced himself.

"Are you ready, my dear young man?"

To that, Harry slowly nodded.

"Let me continue with Idane G.'s sad story, then. I'll plunge right in. What I am going to tell you today is not beautiful or lovely, Harry, so try and brace yourself. Please tell me when you've had enough. You may also have some Dreamless Sleep for tonight as you leave.

"These are no easy memories to recapitulate for me either, so my telling might be slow going. I do want to get it over with, though."

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"You remember what I told you so far about Idane, and what you saw. I think. Any questions?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well. It took the Death Eaters almost a year but eventually, someone of Voldemort's lot did notice that Severus Snape was ever to be found where the giant offspring was. It seems that the Dark Lord got wind somehow, and became suspicious, or wary at least, by rumours spreading of them having a relationship quite beyond mere works of Art.

"This all happened quite some time before Severus came to Hogwarts for good to teach. One evening when Severus Snape was away from the London apartment he and Idane shared – a rather nice place, also one of the gateways, half set in the wizard's world and half in that of the Muggles with a direct access to Diagon Alley, and owned, in different shapes, by the Soniverirus family for centuries –, the Dark Lord sent four of his most trusted followers in.

"Not Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle, obviously – else their sons would have another kind of live at school than they do now, believe me. Severus would be more pained, more bitter still, too, and more troubled than he already is to support his own house of Slytherin... Luckily, none of those involved has had any children. I would not have been able to refuse them admission to Hogwarts."

Harry wondered. He had never had the impression that Snape had any trouble in gathering points for his house and its members, or crediting anything to the Slytherin's advantage, if by ignoring their misdeeds or mistakes, and often by going quite beyond what was decent, fair, or acceptable in their favour...

Right now though, he thought a discussion of the matter inappropriate, however necessary, and amazed himself by wanting to know indeed what could have occurred to Snape and his woman that, in any known world, could make the man an object of his pity in such a way that the Headmaster had felt a need to warn him of it by saying that the events to be told were as bad as what had happened to Neville's parents. Harry could not imagine what incidents could change someone almost beyond recognition, like Snape had been judging by what he'd seen in the Pensieve.

The old wizard sighed. It was obvious that his memories weighed on him.

"Well, then. In short, these four broke and entered, taking Idane by surprise. They tortured her by spell and by more physical methods. This did include the Cruciatus, I believe, but there are less well-known and, as of yet, completely legal curses, and potions not outlawed, that are just as terrible."

Harry blinked slowly.

"But – how can that be, sir? The three, no, four, worst things are covered by the Unforgivables – total control, absolute and inescapable torture, sudden irrevocable death; I myself would want to count what the Dementors do in there, too! What else could there be, and be allowed?"

"Very good, very good, well perceived once more, Harry. Let me explain."

"Obviously, the Avada Kedavra can't be modified. It kills, and that is it. We may put it aside for now.

"You see, for one thing, the Cruciatus and the Imperius curses are Unforgivables and, hence, reasons for a removal or breaking of the wand, and the banishing from our world or, ever since that unfortunate alliance with the Dementors was struck up, for being sent to Azkaban. Such dangers will, of course, prevent many a wizard who would love to serve the Dark Lord in every manner and way, as long as it's legal somehow, and in secrecy, from using them and, hence, being of value to Voldemort's aims. Also, all of these need the intention to damage, as you do know.

"On the other hand, it seems Lord Voldemort has found that a less – hm – summary approach to fundamental pain will often be more effective – less damaging to the victim who will not be able to convey any knowledge he holds if completely demented by the torture. Also, pain would be more of a threat if applied step by step – and more fun, of course, for those creatures that do enjoy inflicting it. Some of the still-legal Dark spells, Riddle invented himself, and most of the potions, Professor Snape developed… They are not widely known nor used, which is the main reason that they have not been abolished by the Ministry of Magic yet. They can't possibly abolish things that they have no data on, see?

"Riddle wanted those modified instruments, too, because they do not need any intention behind them, and are merely a technical means to achieve an end. Veritaserum is a good example here. It is not illegal, only restricted, even though it can burn out those it is used on. The main difference is that it is a tool that does need not need any intention behind its use but the physical ability to put it to work. Those in fear of openly joining Lord Voldemort mostly lack the will to torment and kill, too, but even those who are averse to him could thus be forced to become partners in crime by having to apply perfectly legal means in a damaging way."

Harry shuddered at the images that gave him.

Dumbledore inhaled deeply, apparently to steel himself for what was to come.

"So, as I said, Voldemort sent in Sirius's Cousin Bellatrix, her husband-to-be Rodolphus Lestrange, and one Abernathy, who is now dead, with the order to torture and slowly kill Idane G., and to gather any information that was there to be got by that. The main aim was her destruction, as a warning to Severus Snape – the Dark Lord did not perceive Idane to be very useful or knowledgeable, it seems. Your Professor had withheld his source of information, to protect his love.

"The fourth of Idane's tormentors was a slender man who kept his hood up all the time. He was the only one who wore a mask. He did not speak, but did whisper his spells – that was the younger Crouch, as we know now. He was one for torture, as you might be able to imagine after what he has done to his mother and father.

"Severus Snape, who knew nothing about Crouch jr. being a Death Eater, just like everyone else, suspected someone else at that time. I'll come to that later," the Headmaster said with a sigh.

"Lord Voldemort, besides getting rid of a symbol of hope and bliss for Muggles and wizards alike, wanted to make sure that Severus Snape was not trying to leave or double-cross him, and end the slack in his service to the Dark Cause. They found no signs of any actual disloyalty on Snape's part, not that that would have changed their actions; but they did find something else – something which they felt to be even worse than treason, and to be a very bad kind of betrayal of their master's aims..."

"This is sick!" Harry interrupted, remembering the bliss the image of Idane alone had brought him.

The Headmaster sighed once more.

"Is it indeed, Harry? There is worse to come. And it is not easy to tell, believe me..."

Dumbledore spoke faster after this interruption, as if to get things over with, and abbreviate the pain of reliving his memories.

"Are you sure can stand to hear this, my boy? In any case, I will not show you your Professor's memories of what he saw in the Pensieve. You shall see a motionless image of the place cleared out though, like a Muggle photograph, and with the four perpetrators. I won't let you see her body, or what they have done to Idane."

Harry nodded his assent, tense, but still decided. Now that he had made his mind up to follow through the course that the Headmaster suggested, and to take up Occlumency again, he had to find out what the Potions master's secret was if he was ever to trust Snape, and to work with him. He had to learn to shield himself, and by that, his friends. Also, there seemed to be a connection in all this to his father and Sirius, and he wanted to know as much as possible of that too, of course.

Dumbledore motioned him to come over to the Pensieve. He drew a strain of silver from his temple, put it onto the surface carefully, and said: "You'd better be careful not to touch te liquid at all this time."

Harry bent over the chalice, and saw a very nice, airy room strewn with bright carpets, a part of which was blotted out as if by fog. There were suggestive red spots around… Four people in Death Eater garb were grouped around that area, appearing to approach it with wands and hands, and one of them was completely covered by his robe. He recognised one of the others as Bellatrix Black.

Harry tried to look around in that room, careful not to touch the surface of the Pensieve, and found that the picture was slightly three-dimensional. In the corners, he saw furniture, bookshelves; there was a big, ancient fireplace, and a table with some chairs not too far from where the people were grouped. Nothing moved. Everything looked quite common and alright, if unusual for a Muggle photograph.

When he found nothing more to behold, he looked up at Dumbledore, who did not meet his eyes.

"Have you seen enough, Harry?"

"Yes sir, thank you." Harry withdrew to his seat, and slumped down.

What had he gotten himself into? If he'd never looked into Snape's Pensieve, would he be here now?

The old Headmaster cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Listen, then. Giants are tough, wilful and strong... I told you that it is difficult to hurt a giant. Being their offspring, Idane was, like them, not very susceptible to pain, less so than the average Muggle by far. This, to the Death Eater gang, was of course a major challenge to their abilities as tormentors and henchmen. Idane was not stupid, though, and seems to have faked pain successfully. She had also learned enough about numbing spells during her work with Severus to endure all the Death Eaters did to her – to remain alive until Severus'd come back from his business. She died in his arms. Yet we are not sure if that was not what they had intended... In fact, I believe it suited the Dark Lord very much."

Dumbledore had rested his head on one hand, his expression indescribably sad, and his long forefinger touched the silvery surface of the Pensieve very lightly. It became iridescent by the movement. He closed his eyes in concentration.

"These were her words to him, her last wish."

A very different voice spoke to Harry now from the old wizard's mouth, coloured brilliantly red by pain, and terminal midnight blue with the will to come through; it held all the doom of a terrific sunset bestowed on it by impending irrevocable death, and yet was beautiful as Phoenix song.

"My love – do not avenge me blindly, and do not submit blindly! Watch out in whatever you do from now on. Riddle will want to see whether you are still true to him, now that his serfs destroyed your 'little play-tool'. If you wish to have revenge on them, do turn away from Voldemort, but not to his face. He would just kill you, one more useless death! Severus, my one and only love – do become a weapon of his opponents! Do deny me in front of your Lord and the Death Eaters in any way that is demanded, in any way necessary! Shelter your mind – and let any word of lie and contempt that you have to speak about me become a spell of power to Voldemort's downfall, but do speak it if you must! Do go see Dumbledore, go to him, trust him. And please hide my body, do not allow this mutilated ruin to be displayed – let not be known what has happened to me. It will take the sting out of his plan, and there's good reason not to let this deed become known, even against his orders! Please let not the world see this corpse, drained of the bliss it held! Try, my one love, not to become bitter..."

Harry could not look up. He felt tears run down his cheeks.

"She never doubted him for a second… Do you see how brave she was?"

The Headmaster sounded a bit short-winded, but spoke with his normal voice again, for which Harry was grateful.

"Well worthy of a man like Snape!"

At that, Harry did rise his head. He felt betrayed; all his good mood of the day was gone.

This was too much, just like Dumbledore had feared.

"What, not become bitter? Worthy of him! A man like Snape? Brave! He did not even call an ambulance – or the mediwizards, I bet!"

"Harry, did you not listen? I believe you will understand soon."

Dumbledore picked up his story as if nothing had been said.

"One could possibly say that Idane made Severus brave - and worthy of her, rather. He tried to do her bidding, too – but did indeed become bitter, I'm afraid... Stuck to her plea in any other respect, though.

"When Professor Snape came home that night, he found Idane on the floor in front of the fireplace, broken and cut and almost bled to death. He did successfully quell her many bleeding wounds by spells, but there was no potion, no spell, no Art that that could save her now, he could see that right away. He told me he'd pretty much known from the moment he saw her lie there that she was not to live.

"I.. I have the memories of your Professor's right here in the Pensieve, in case you wish to see for yourself."

Dumbledore had not meant to offer this. The images were too much for a man to behold – what would they do to a boy?

Mutely, Harry shook his head, eyes downcast still. He was unwilling to believe that Snape had done all he could, but he would listen to what the Headmaster had to say. There was no way though that he'd add those images of pain to the ones he already had to cope with.

Faintly relieved, Dumbledore continued.

"Idane knew that, herself... She told Severus not to bother with the mediwizards, as it was no use and she would die soon. When she had gotten him off his attempts of rescuing her, and he eased her pains as far as he could, she spoke the words I repeated to you.

"Idane must have repeated those words to herself over and over again, lying there dying, memorising them like a spell, a curse. I am sure, too, that those were her exact words; they are burned into your Potions Professor's mind as is her picture... As is the Dark Mark into the flesh of his arm...

"When she had done the one thing that she had held out to do, to speak to him, her love, she let go of life, and went unconscious.

"That giant's grandchild's body had been crushed as if dropped from a great height. The contortions induced by the Cruciatus curse, and what other terrible abuse we will never know, had bent her long slender limbs beyond recovery, boneless, snakelike...

"Severus Snape did whatever he could to restore her anyway – but Bellatrix Lestrange, then still Bellatrix Black, had, when cutting open Idane's body, deliberately destroyed her intestines, sliced her liver and her underbelly, and parts of the organs seemed to be missing. Higher powers than witchcraft, or even very high-class magical surgery, would have to have been employed, and on the spot at that, for those wounds not to kill her. Idane, the giant child, would have been a pained cripple for the rest of her life.

"Even the use of the Philosopher's Stone would have come too late by then. Its precious magic cannot repair what is not there anymore. Severus Snape did not ever think it to be within his reach anyway. I had no access to it then, and could not have brought it there in time, even if it had been with me... Even had been close enough for him to contact me right away… Believe me, Harry, I would, had I but known or been able to…"

Harry looked up that the old wizard who had buried his face in his hands. Albus Dumbedore was staring at the Pensieve unseeing, and seemed to be riddled with some kind of guilt that Harry would never have thought any grown-up to need to feel.

Dumbledore spoke again, his voice very low: "This always gives me an absurd feeling of failure whenever I think about it, like an unforgivable mistake one has made. I cannot help it.

"You may gauge by that how much I felt for her, and how much she gave to everyone."

The Headmaster cleared his throat.

"The Death Eaters burned her wonderful dark golden hair from her head, and the skin was almost gone from her skull, as well as from other parts of her body. Severus healed many of those wounds, and used any spell he could think of to mend her bones and ease her pain.

"As for the mediwizards – Snape had no means to call them, or anyone else. Idane's murderers had sealed off the room to magic, to make sure that she was dead before help of any kind could be obtained. With Idane unconscious and dying in his arms, Severus did try to light a fire to floo-call St.Mungo's. Her tormentors seemed to have taken most of the floopowder. But that didn't matter: they had hexed the fireplace, and instead of a fire starting to burn, glowing balls shot at them for minutes in a row – like howlers, laughing and jeering, screaming things like 'mudblood lover' and 'slimeblood', nasty, cheap, childish things.

"Severus could not think of any other way to get help.

"The noise of the things woke Idane from her almost-terminal unconsciousness, and she pleaded with him again not to bother, but to listen to her instead.

"She would not let Snape leave to get some of his potions for her either, not that there were a lot about – she knew she did not have much time left. He had to stop trying to heal her. Idane wanted him to be close during her last minutes, to show him what had happened, and who had done it.

"The images Severus let me see in the Pensieve... Harry, they are the worst and most ugly scenes I have ever seen, more horrible than one can picture, trust me. Imagine coming home and find your beloved like that... mutilated and dying..."

Harry looked up, feeling sick to his soul, much like he was contracting a fever. Fawkes flew over from his perch, singing softly, in an attempt to soothe him. Dumbledore held the boy's eyes for a moment, regardless of the risk, sadness and old pain in his own and, when Harry dropped his head on his arms again, said in an odd voice:

"And they should have thought of cutting out her tongue and eyes out while they were at it... He's never going really all the way... There's a lack of finality, of consequence, in Tom Riddle and hence, in his followers... Our great hope…"

On hearing this, Harry sat up straight with surprise. He shuddered a little and looked at Dumbledore very, very watchful. The cruel words had been given in an unfamiliar, hard, and icy tone, but the old wizard was not looking at him. He sat in his chair just like he had before, if more relaxed now, and Harry thought he looked frail.

After some moments, the Headmaster continued with the story, every now and then stirring the shining grey mist in Pensieve with his wand and watching closely, to make sure that he forgot nothing of what he still had to tell.

"Do let me go on, let me get over with this dreadful story.

"Idane managed a few more words: "My beloved - pregnant by you... They took the child… dead... called it a changeling... They will know... was yours... My beloved... Severus... can you... bear it?

"Snape had nodded, unsure if he had heard her right, and knowing he was lying.

"... Cannot hold out ... much longer... no words... my eyes... The images...! Severus… only love…"

Harry was grateful that he Headmaster refrained from using her voice again. The manner he said those things in was uncannily realistic anyway.

"Then Idane could not talk anymore. Professor Snape had not been sure of her pregnancy but very much hoped for it, he told me later. A child, an heir to the Soniverirus, had been his heartfelt wish, and he had himself seen to the right time for conception, to all the signs and stars, as was the tradition in his family, and planned it all – so this came as an additional blow that almost did him in.

"But Severus managed to do as she bid him. He kissed her destroyed face tenderly, locked eyes with her, and made contact with her mind. By that, I am sure, he had to share a lot of what she'd had to suffer. In her eyes, he saw all that had happened, everything his fellow Death Eaters had said and done to his beloved – all the things that are now in here, and probably more. He committed his memory to the Pensieve for anyone who can get their hands on it and care to watch, unable to bear the images alone. He has not forgotten a single bit of what happened.

"In the eyes of his dying love, he saw what she had taken in of the words and actions of her tormentors while she had hidden her mind from them, and concentrated on slowing down the drain of blood as much as possible, easing her pain by the few numbing spells against burns and cuts he had taught her, and that she had bothered to learn for her work. The knowledge had come in handy more than once at events, with minor accidents when things went off wrong or something fell on someone. No-one could have conceived of the use she would have for them in the end.

"Professor Snape saw the Death Eaters baiting Idane, making fun of her „truly gigantic" naiveté and stupidity, by it proclaiming their knowledge of her ancestry. Only Voldemort knew for sure; Severus had told his master himself. The tormentors jested about Idane's trust in the love of a Death Eater, but particularly about her ridiculous consent to assist Severus in the development and testing of some potions, most of which had different kinds of hypnotic effects. They told her how stupid she had been to believe that Snape had created them for her benefit, to enhance her Art for visitors who would take them, saying that they were meant to further and make easier mind control for the Death Eaters...

"Idane did not react to any of that, to her torturers' disappointment. In her memories, Severus could feel the heavy sedation in her mind from a Morpheorelief spell that she had used on herself, and blessed himself to have made her learn it. This could have meant that some of the memories of hers he saw were hallucinations or misapprehensions, but he was sure they weren't, no matter how much he wished that they were.

"Some of her impressions, however, were blurred – not only by the side-effects of the spells and hexes used on her, but also by her hatred for her tormentors – his fellow Death Eaters –, and by the pain induced by them which was felt even by someone of giant descent under the influence of a powerful numbing spell. The Death Eaters put all their torturing skill to work on her…

"They had then told her that Snape had only borne her around in order to better be able to spy for Voldemort, to get access to Muggle officials and Ministry of Magic information and to all the news that ware spoken around her so carelessly. Otherwise, a Soniverirus would never stand the presence of a mud-cum-stone-blood for just hours, not to mention days or months!

That gang obviously believed this, their own inferences, to be the truth – Idane managed to show Severus that she had not been able to sense any doubt of that in them –, and seemed to be impressed by his powers over her. There had been no attempts at interrogation to find out more about Snape's intentions, or faith in their aims.

"Even through her daze of pain and spell, and his own burning rage, Snape had felt her hurt at this realisation, more than at anything else. That had not been because Idane doubted Severus's love of her even for a second, but because they were so sure of what they said, and absolutely believed it to be the truth. They never felt a shadow of doubt in Severus's loyalty to his lord, even after Idane's passionate claims to his love. That had only made them laugh. They had merely sneered at it. Her trust in Severus and her love for him were not touched at all by what happened, even now that his 'friends' cut her up and made to kill her.

"Severus Snape later on realised that the strength of his fellow Death Eater's conviction of his having acted always as their lord's faithful servant did not originate in their knowledge of his extraction, and adherence to the Dark Lord alone, but mainly in the complete absence of love from their own lives. They had always known him to hate Muggles and mixed-bloods.

"None of them could begin to imagine anything even remotely resembling love or compassion, neither with their own kind, just as they had no real concept of kindness, common good, or sympathy – none of which Severus Snape himself had cared about or believed to exist or, if they did, to matter in any way – until he met Idane. Those were things he had never considered to be lacking in his life before he came to love her.

"Snape had mocked such weaknesses just like they had, and together with them – and now, already, while she was receding, leaving him alone again, he started to feel the terrible pain of loss. You know yourself, Harry, that that is a kind of pain that can make one wish to never have loved or cared to start with. It can make one want to not live at all and be an insensate thing, a stone perhaps.

Dumbledore paused.

"Kissing Idane's face, feeling her mangled body getting colder in his arms, Severus thought, over and again, that it probably was better and wiser not to have a notion of such pain, and be an unloving, unfeeling, heartless moron. He desperately wanted to be able to go back to that, to be what he'd been before her, but knew he never would.

"Snape knew that, even by his own standards, he had become weak and Muggle-like: feeling pity and love was inferiority, and meant defeat and death. He breathed heavily by then (you can see the picture heave with that even in the Pensieve), trying hard not to break the legilmental contact with Idane, or to cry or throw up over her, or to let go of the last he would ever have of love.

"In her eyes, he clearly saw and identified three of the Death Eaters who had committed this murder. He saw how they questioned her, torturing her all the time to answer, wanting to know if he loved her, and if she really believed that he did. He saw what they had done and how they had done it. The mocked her: What had it been like with him? She had spit at them at that, and she had fought hard not to moan or shown them pain so that they might enjoy tormenting her less.

"The Death Eaters tried, again and again, to bait her and distract her. Crushing her body, they attempted to make her drop the pain-relieving spells that they noticed her use – or, at least, stop her from covering herself with them entirely. They did succeed eventually…

"Bellatrix Black was depraved with words and hands, while the unknown hooded male figure was a silent terror with the wand and with spells, merely needing to whisper to cause screaming pain. He did not hesitate to use Battle Magic on her! This man also did not consider it below him to use Muggle methods like kicking and beating whenever they seemed to fit in. He and Bellatrix made the other two join in actively every now and then, but neither of them seemed to be too keen on the action, although they did occasionally make helpful suggestions, which were greeted by the others, and immediately realised. That terrible twosome seemed to be so eager on what they did that they did not really mind the others' abstinence."

Albus Dumbledore looked at Harry who seemed to be crushed by all this. Was this really necessary? The boy needed to know why Severus had become what he was, what pain made of men. Harry needed to understand what might lay in store for him by inference and, too, that it was not him alone who was suffering and had lost his beloved…

"Harry, you must brace yourself. There is worse to come still…"

Harry swallowed hard to stop his tears, but did not say a word.

"You heard that Idane was pregnant. She was in about the fourth month, and had not known this herself for more than a couple of days when the attack took place. She was looking forward to tell her beloved upon his return, I should imagine.

"Voldemort's favourite four tormentors found out when they cut into her. The Black woman had cut open Idane's womb slowly, and at random, taking her time with it. She discovered the pregnancy, and they jeered. The Death Eaters tore the life that-was-to-be from Idane's womb and dangled the tiny body, dripping blood, before her eyes.

"That embryo was Severus's mudblood child, a changeling to them; a being whose existence could not be tolerated by any Death Eater; something Voldemort was not going to have from any of his followers, and would indeed consider betrayal of the blood."

Dumbledore again looked at Harry, who had let his head drop onto his arms. There was no use stopping at this point. The Headmaster could only hope that it would help Harry to release his own feelings of guilt. He stirred the Pensieve wearily and went on.

"The memory blurs here, as you might imagine... But one still can hear their voices. The torturer were jeering and jesting, making fun of what they did. They loved what they did, Harry.

"They said things like: 'But to think that he really did... Yuck! How very disgusting to imagine that! Tasteless! Unappetizing!' Bellatrix Black said: 'I wonder if I'll ever get rid of the image again! To think I even went out with Severus once! I would not have considered him to be capable of going to such ends for our most revered master, weak boy that he was...'

"The hooded man had said in his toneless manner: 'Really, I do prefer believe our dear Snivellus would have taken care of this – being, this – monster, to vanish in time! Look at it, I ask you! To think it would look like him, one day… One could almost pity it, but we've taken care of that by taking it down, haven't we? Maybe there would be use for it in some potion… We must ask him when he… Dear, dear, I hope that we didn't spoil some very important experiment of his, tsk-tsk-tsk…'

"They laughed like madmen to that.

"Most of the Death Eaters never liked Severus Snape, and envied his standing with the Dark Lord, which was mainly owed to his Potions knowledge.

"Bellatrix chimed in. 'Yuck! This really is very much the mother! But look, there's more...'

"There was more laughter. Her pictures ceased at this point. She must have fainted finally, this had gone on for hours.

"There was a final flash of memory from her, now transmitting only sounds.

"The Death Eaters had gone on: 'Oh, that repelling Muggle blood everywhere. Mudblood, literally.'

"'Do you think, o giant halfling, that your smeary stone-blood – if that is what it is? – is safe to step on so one wouldn't slip?'

"'I hope not,' she had groaned.

"Another bout of laughter had come from the Death Eaters at that.

"Here, her memory flow stops entirely. Idane was silently dying in your Professor's arms.

"Thus, their last minutes – which were Severus's last minutes as well, in more than one respect, to be sure – did not give rise to a song of bliss about all the good and beautiful times they'd had together, but to pictures of atrocities.

"Severus never knew when he'd started to cry. Too appalling was what he had to witness and to share in this manner. He held Idane as close as he could, and she did not complain.

"Later on, he never thought of this as mourning or self-pity, but as a cleansing of the abhorrent things he had once sworn allegiance and committed himself to.

"He confessed his love to Idane, and she whispered faintly, at his cheast: '…know, my beloved... Muggle-hater...'

"This, Idane had called him teasingly sometimes when Severus Snape could not hold back his contempt for Muggle slowness, or stupidity. Had Severus not cried already, this would have done it.

"'Had to end so... too good...'

"And, pulling herself together for a final time, Idane said, in a very clear voice: 'You did not miss one drop of this precious chalice – make good use of their conceit! I will leave... leave now for the lands of snow... the Old Ones... you my eternal love...'

"By the Pensieve, I may witness if I must what Severus saw when she did die: how in her eyes, pale icy green and shining, then were fleeting images of the good times they had had; how these memories became, beautifully and with terrible finality, translucent, and vanished into nowhere. The picture then blurs, as you might imagine.

"This was his own final torment..."

Harry and the Headmaster sat in silence for a long time. The office was quiet, no painting shuffled, and Fawkes's tiny sounds comforted both of them, if only a little bit.

Harry wiped his eyes. He had nothing to say. This was worse than anything he could have imagined, and he was sure that such events would kill the light off in anyone's life. Snape had gone through things that were worse by far than what he had seen… or were they? Could suffering be compared?

Eventually, Dumbledore spoke up again.

"Snape suspected that very night that he was to see the embryo eventually – his child... Idane needed not tell him that her torturers had taken it with them to Voldemort as a present, and proof of success of their mission. She did not know that they had, but Severus would have been sure of it even if it hadn't been obvious.

"Your Professor does not bother to call life what since then is left to him.

"The babies' death was as important as that of Idane in the testing of Severus Snape. By it, he learned – he suffered himself, the hard way, what real Evil is and means, what those people he had allied himself to really were, and what the things felt like that he himself had done to others, or allowed to happen to them."

-------------

After a while, Harry spoke up. What was on his mind was irrelevant, but he needed some distraction.

"What did she mean by chalice – their life? Or their love?"

Harry just had to say something. The silence was becoming unbearable, but neither could he face the pictures conjured up in his own mind by the Headmaster's words, worsened by the fact that there were pictures of the events there indeed. He was grateful that Dumbledore had not forced him to watch those things in full for himself by getting into the Pensieve this time, though he might well have done otherwise to teach him, and swore that he'd be much more careful with that thing if he ever came across it again.

His accursed curiosity!

That was part of the lesson, he guessed.

The Headmaster regarded him gravely, as if knowing that Harry just had to ask something marginal to distract himself, but wanting to answer that seriously anyway.

"Both, maybe – but I am not sure. Some bits of what she said when she finally died were very giant-like, not at all easy to understand – I think that what she had to go through, and her will to bear it, brought her much closer to that ancient side in her. Muggles would not easily have stood up to what she did for such a time without giving way to insanity, don't you think?"

Harry nodded.

They both did not speak again for quite some time, lost in their respective thoughts.

Eventually, Harry tried again, feeling nervous and helpless: "But the Skele-Grow...?"

"You remember how very painful it was to grow back the bones in your arm, how hard to be borne, don't you? And you were not seriously injured otherwise, and in general good health then! It is very sweet of you, my boy, to think of things in such a manner. It also shows me that this... report has – well, hit home, but believe me: nothing was to be done in this case," Dumbledore rebutted him mildly.

Harry nodded, feeling very stupid and out-of-place.

Dumbledore took pity on him, not wanting him to bear the weight of such a story and feel like an ass at the same time.

"See, Harry, it is really good of you to care. But Professor Snape would be a great healer, not only for his Potions knowledge, if he'd just bother. Thinking about that might give you another view of him… Yet in this case, any amount of care would have been to no avail – it seems, as I said, that Idane's murderers took parts of her intestines away, not only the child, when they mutilated her, as a proof to their Lord, or just to make sure she wouldn't live. Most of her bones were crushed so badly that they would have to be liquefied first (like your arm was by Gilderoy's ineptitude), and be healed only after, much in the same way as yours were. She would not have been able to endure this, considering her state, even with a giant's general insensitivity to pain. Bones are at the core of their very beings, much more than they are with us, and her tormentors knew that.

"Also, that stuff is not safe to use during pregnancy. All kinds of ugly and dangerous bone developments could happen to the child – which of course would not have mattered anymore just then. However, Professor Snape did not have any at home anyway, and it is not made just like that. You won't really find it outside hospitals. The application needs experienced and permanent surveillance.

"There was no way to call the hospital, remember, not that it would have made a difference either. As I said, there are states of physical and mental destruction that even all our magical knowledge and healing powers cannot bring a person back from – as you do know, right?"

Harry could cry no more. He remembered wandering off in St.Mungo's, seeing Neville's parents, and his former Defence against the Dark Arts Professor. He remembered holding Cedric's limp body, and nodded again, feeling exhausted and empty now, but no longer like an idiot. Though... but he could not have known, could he?

Dumbledore waited for Harry to settle down again.

"This, of course, the Death Eaters knew – know – just as well. They are expert torturers and destroyers. They hated Idane for her radiance, for the beauty and the bliss she brought to Muggles and wizards alike. They destroyed her so that she would be able to withstand death just long enough, with what little she knew of magic, to tell the tale to their wayward fellow Death Eater. If she'd survive at all, she'd be a wreck for lifetime, not something anyone would care to look at, and a mocking of the beauty she once brought. Their intentions were easy to figure out for her, I'd imagine. Her innate powers were great, and you know yourself what wild magic can do – I believe they had timed their monstrous acts so that Severus would have to see her die. Voldemort wanted to make sure.

"This act was intended by Voldemort to test Professor Snape's loyalty, and make him suffer for banding up with mudbloods, no matter how much the Dark Lord's cause profited from his doing so.

"Idane's bravery and strength of will won though, in more than one respect – together with her, Severus Snape had became whole. He understood that there was love indeed; and that many of the things that he and his fellow Death Eaters used to ridicule did exist and have a value if their own, if they were painful; and that they had more to do with a strength to cope with the knowledge of them than with the weakness of having to feel them in the first place.

"Idane also brought to fruition those immense abilities of his that most students do not appreciate at all, not many Slytherins either, for obvious reasons. The love they had enabled him to thwart Voldemort's plans.

"This miscalculation of character was Lord Voldemort's first big mistake – listen very closely, Harry, though I might say it again, – because Severus Snape is one of the bravest and most coolly calculating, strategical men I know of. All this is the reason why I speak of him with reverence – as a friend, even.

"Professor Snape is not a kind man, or even-tempered, or patient, or just, but his decisions are definite, and his mind and abilities are excellent indeed. There's not one action he takes without consideration, but he is not considerate by any means.

"He has devoted his considerable powers to a variety of most difficult assignments that he considers to be his duties, and does not tolerate any light-hearted skipping of responsibility. You might understand better now why this is – he has seen and felt for himself the horrors such a behaviour can bring about.

"Mind you, Harry: I personally do not think that you, of all people, have ever become guilty of such mis-apprehension and neglect. You are not to be blamed any such a thing, even if Professor Snape appears to think so! Old hatred and resentments tend to get in his way. He might be a teacher, but he's only human after all. I keep telling Professor Snape that he must allow for students to have their own experiences, in order to learn for life. It is not that we entirely disagree there – it is that he cannot trust anymore. He wants his students to understand the responsibilty they bear for their actions, and by that, to act right of themselves. At the base of this is a deep wish to not have anyone suffer what he had to go through. Maybe you can believe that?"

Harry only half listened to this, though the words would surely come back to him later on. He felt very cold, and trembled slightly. Dumbledore had expected no reaction, either.

To imagine he'd have had to hold his mother in his arms, dying, and not she, him... To be allowed to hold her... At least, his parents had been together to die, in a way...? And not in such a terrible manner?

Harry had never even in passing thought of that possibility before, and had seen no such things in his visions of his mother – her cries had been for him to live, and surely she had been in a terror of pain, but of quite another kind. Yet how could he know for sure? The thought was petrifying, crushing Harry.

"Were – were my parents ...tortured, too, sir?"

The Headmaster looked at him for a moment, deeply serious, then smiled sadly.

"Oh dear, I'd thought you knew that much, at least... I am sorry… No, they were not, Harry, they were killed by a crude and cowardly direct attack, Avada Kedavra'ed on the spot – you could say they died in open battle, as far as that can be said for an assault of such a kind.

Harry blinked, but went on, somehow feeling relieved:

"So, Voldemort's second mistake, then, was my survival?"

The old wizard almost chuckled.

"Sort of, sort of... It was – and is – huge luck for our fight, Harry, that these murderers only – well, played around. No, don't make a face – those that killed you parents did, and these... monsters, here, too, did indeed merely play around, like – much like werewolves under a full moon do, or the last few Eastern Giants would. They have no idea of what they really are committing aside of finding their own amusement, which happens to be in torture and murder. In a sense, their master is a retarded, cruel child.

The Death Eaters know, too, that such acts as they commit are forbidden, against the law, and against everything society stands for. They defy the basic rules of human conduct which are usually introduced to children at an early age, and are meant to ensure the survival of the individual and the race, and the absence of precisely such actions. To them, felony is merely an extra, some nice spice, nothing more. Their victims are, in a sense, not real for them. Taking a life in a dastardly manner to them is much the same like tearing apart a picture, a page in a book: what they destroy is two-dimensional to them, and can easily be replaced. But they find the taking of a human life by torture much more exciting. The Death Eaters do not understand consequence, like they do not understand love. Furthermore, they hate Muggles mainly because they need to look down on someone. Should they occasionally not be able enjoy what they are ordered to do, they will still do it because their master orders them. They need to obey, too, because that shifts responsibilty. There was, and still is, no "for" besides their master, and what they think to be their amusement...

"Bellatrix alone had a view, I believe, that what they did was meant to be a test for Severus, but with the others, I doubt they cared at all.

"None of them, as I said, ever seriously considered Severus to truly love, a Muggle or otherwise, so they never marginally imagined – well, other kinds of treason to their cause, and did not think of making either her, or him later on, take Veritaserum. That short-sightedness is fortunate for us!"

Both Harry and Dumbledore were lost in thought. Harry was slightly taken aback at the cold sobriety of Dumbledore's views, but he thought they held water. He also felt that he was granted answers right now by the Headmaster like an adult.

"Say, my boy – it's become rather late... You should be off to bed... Do you think you can sleep after all this, or would you rather have some Dreamless Sleep, just to make sure?"

Harry looked at his Headmaster who, once more, had averted his eyes. He felt unable to decide such a trivial matter right now.

"I don't know, Professor.. I'd rather not, actually... But then, I'd prefer not to have nightmares, and what if the Dark Lord can read all that you told me?

"I do not think he can. Should he see fragments of those things in you, he will think that Snape is teaching you again, and trying to break or crush you by such imagery… In any case, you are invited to leave the memory in the Pensieve here with me. You've never done that before, have you?"

The boy shook his tousled black head wearily.

"It would allow you some distance to the whole thing, but it will also be difficult to retrieve details to tell, should you need them."

"I'd rather do neither, sir, but I think I won't ever take you up on the second offer, if you get my meaning..."

Harry suddenly changed his mind. He would take the sleeping potion with him to the dormitory, but not take it unless his nightmares got really bad.

"Actually, yes, I would appreciate to have some kind of sleeping draught, just in case..."

"Very well, then."

Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a small vial with some darkish liquid.

"Eventually, you'll have to make a truce with Severus should you come to need more of this – or learn to brew it yourself, you know?"

"Would I be allowed to?"

"Of course, dear boy – no-one prevents you or anyone else to do their own brewing. All students may, in their spare time. You've probably never heard of it, because students very rarely bother. In any case, you'd need Professor Snape's permission to use the laboratory. He will tell you when there's a free workplace. You might also want some assistance with it, I should think. Miss Granger should be able to help you out."

"I see... Thank you, sir. Good night, then."

He turned to leave.

"Harry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I understand that, even before I told you any relevant bits of his biography, you went to Professor Snape, trying to make up with him?"

Harry blushed at the memory of his initial failure. "Er… yes, sir, but he did not seem too excited about it. I don't think he cared for that, really. I did try another time, too, and I think he accepted it then, sort of... The first time I tried, I went because I felt I had to, and was completely unprepared... The other time, I invited him into my mind to see and feel my apology. I wanted to show him that I did put an effort into clearing my mind. I do think he sort of accepted what he saw, even if it was not enough by far…

Dumbledore did not tell the boy that the Professor had related both events to him in detail, appearing to be truly amazed about the second.

"Well done, son, in any case! I do trust things will work out eventually, but I mustn't and will not help you there other than by telling you Professor Snape's story. The rest is between you and him. Good night now, Harry."

This was a definite dismissal. Harry did not move right away, though, but stared at the Headmaster's slender, aged hands on the desk before him. He wouldn't tell the Dumbledore that he was seriously attempting to make good with Snape, and set to learn the Mencies – let him wonder. This might be silly or even dangerous, but the old man had done just that thing once too often, manipulating him to have things done his way. Harry was tired of being played. Dumbledore was likely to know already, anyway…

Harry's mind was set on apologizing to Snape now, in a way that the dour man would have to accept, and on taking up Occlumency, just like Dumbledore had foreseen. Whether he'd really have to fight side by side with the Potions master, only time would tell. He could admit by now, to himself at least, that the probability for this was high.

"Good night, sir..."

Slowly, Harry turned and walked away, lost in thought.

Only when he reached Gryffindor Tower, Harry noticed that lights were out. It had gone really dark already, too. That meant it was probably past midnight, since it was still September. The Headmaster's office windows must be charmed somehow. Harry was very likely out of bounds well beyond curfew, but to his relief, he'd encountered no-one.

A story like the one he'd heard tonight would take its time to be told, and to be taken in.

In the dormitory, Harry stood by the window for quite some time, looking out over the silent, moonlit grounds and the lake, not thinking anything. He did take a swig of the Dreamless Sleep Potion that night.


	15. Silva

**15. Silva**

A couple of days after Harry had to listen to the dreadful tale of how Professor Snape lost his love, Dumbledore's Army held their first meeting without quarrels or any interruption. Everyone was present except for Marietta Edgecombe. Even Cho and Zachary showed up – and waht was best: no-one was staring at Harry anymore, trying to gauge if he really was mad.

The threesome had agreed not to mention Professor Snape's possible involvement at all, and decided to give it some time before they invited his sister to join.

Hermione and Ron had complained about Harry's being lost in thought so much lately, but he asked his friends to please leave it be Harry told them that it was nothing serious, no, he couold not talk about it, and would be passing soon, so they let up.

Silva Snape seemed to settle in quietly, and wasn't seen by the students at all except in the Great Hall at eating times. The rumours about her spectacular arrival were abating already.

The Gryffindors had their lunch break that day after a Double Herbology lesson. Harry told his friends that he wanted to talk to Silva and would follow them later. He thought that he might find her by the greenhouses, and maybe they could start her tutoring. Harry was undecided about approaching her, but the hope that she might have answers to some of his questions about the past drove him on.

Harry found Silva right where he thought he would, without much trouble. She had obviously started her assistance job and was scouring away at a large pile of pots, manually.

"Erm... Ma'am... Professor... How are you today?"

Harry felt more than a bit nervous.

She was much older than him of course, but did not look at all bad, cleaned up and in fresh wizard clothes now, if there were some soil smears up to her elbows.

She wiped her lower arm across her forehead, leaving a smear there, and got at him before he could even grin because of it.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, call me Silva, will you now, like I told you! Just like you did before? I am going to take house points off anyone who gives me Madame or Professor or, worst of it all, Miss Snape, once I am fully installed here! Is that understood? Tell this to your little friends too, will you? I am not, and will never be a Professor if I can help it! Didn't even finish school!"

Harry almost jumped at that rant. Silva Snape in her anger sounded exactly like her brother, if not in her tone of voice, then by the words!

He tried to change the subject instantly, but still felt awkward.

"Mmmaad… Silva, I wanted to ask when you want to start your tutoring… You know, I have a lot of things to do, and Quidditch practice, and now that I'll…"

Harry stopped again.

Silva calmed down as abruptly as she had blown her top, and smiled.

"You want to fix a date," she suggested.

"Yes, right," Harry said, relieved.

Silva tried to hide her grin. At that age, asking completely banal and innocent things of others could become a huge endless ordeal of awkwardness, embarrassment, and insinuation. Also, this seemed to be worse for boys than for girls. There were people who made fun of that and tried to make it worse, but not her.

"So why don't you just tell me what times would be convenient for you, and I'll see if that is okay with me? I don't really have a schedule here, punctual watering and feeding of certain plants excepted, but that is mainly in the morning. Professor Sprout won't mind my absence as long as things get done."

"That'd be great – I had hoped to – er, meet you this afternoon. I know the Headmaster said that you or he would approach me, but…"

Harry was at a loss for words, unable to explain that he really wanted to ask her about his parents and their time at school.

"There's no Quidditch practice today, and there will be not too much homework, so…

"That's fine with me, Harry. So what time do you think?"

They set the date for four o'clock, behind the greenhouses to be well out of sight. There was a bit of lawn and a fringe of bushes, so if anything went wrong during practice, not much damage would be done.

"There might be the occasional snoggers, trying to find a quiet place," Silva teased, just to see what Harry's reaction would be.

Harry Potter blushed a little and turned away awkwardly. There seemed to be a twinge of disappointment in him, too – he'd apprently had his first experiences.

They settled for a schedule, agreeing that they'd just follow the curriculum right from first year, or what Harry remembered of it, to see what was lacking and where Silva's weak points lay.

Silva was ready to go to lunch, but Harry would not get up from the rickety wooden bench they'd been sitting on. He desperately wanted to know more about his parents, and about Sirius. Harry found that difficult to ask, avoiding the subject of Sirius whenever he could, but whom else, or when, could he ask about his relatives?

"Silva – did you know my parents? Or – or my godfather – Sirius Black?"

"Oh yes, I did, all of them… They were some years ahead of me… In the same year as my dear brother. You are saying that you don't know a thing about them, do you? Albus hasn't told you the lot?"

Harry shook his head mutely. "Only now, with the story of, er, your… brother. I only… I only saw something once, in the Pensieve, and I didn't like it. My father and" – Harry wanted to say godfather but found he could't bring himself to say it again – "and Sirius, were they really bullies?"

Silva considered the question, and the implications of what Harry just had _not _asked, for some moments. Then she said:

"I don't mean to hurt you, but your godfather was not really a brilliant wizard, technically... Not a Squib, of course, but I bet he had a hard time hiding out after his flight from Azkaban, because he would have to find himself supplies much in the Muggle way..."

Harry was about to start at these words in the angry manner that had become almost habitual withim whenever someone said something about Sirius Black that he considered derogatory, but suddenly remembered how desperate Sirius had been for them to bring him food...

He'd had no wand, of course, but why had Sirius never tried to get one, or asked them? Harry remembered how Sirius had complained about always having to eat rats, and hunting in his Animagus form, and how very grateful he'd always been for what they brought. Or was that because the Ministry could detect illicit magic, and who'd done it, just like with school kids?

Sirius had done well enough though in the Shrieking Shack, though.

Harry could not see what Silva was getting at. But he was afraid that her circumventing of his plain and straightforward question was an answer in itself, so for once being patient was fairly easy.

Silva Snape continued: "I know that doesn't sound nice... Sirius excelled in the magical theory of all subjects, which is what made him second to none but your father as a student. When he put his mind to it, he was a brilliant strategist, but usually he didn't bother, claiming that knowing in advance what would happen was boring, and trying to plot it even more so. He was not one for Divination, as you can imagine. Sirius acted on impulse a lot, making up for his weak magic by sheer impact of attack, cunning, speed, and recklessness.

Sirius was really good at two practical things though – one, with all kinds of magical creatures. At some point, the Romanians tried to convince him to take up the study of dragons and work down there, but Sirius was not persistant enough for scientifical work. Much like Hagrid in some ways... I do think that Hagrid would be the better wizard of the two, all things considered."

It was easy to see that those words raised Harry's hackles. But he did not interrupt her.

"Don't get me wrong, Harry – he made up for much of that by caring, his unfailing devotion to his friends, his absolutely attractive personality – he WAS reliable and utterly sweet with his friends – I should know, I was in favour with him. He was a very good-looking boy, too... Sirius was moody sometimes, you know?

"None of the abler wizards – like Malfoy, or my brother, or that brute Macnair for instance, would dare get at him because of the other thing he was not only brilliant but also completely unpredictable at: Battle Magic. That is a subject which, I believe, was cut out from the curriculum shortly after Voldemort's downfall. Too many of the fresh Death Eaters had rather excelled in this subject, and the Ministry would not have that. They felt that this form of magic was far too dangerous and two-edged for our oh-so-civilised present... the teaching of it now is part of the Auror training, I understand.

"If there would still be a Court of the High King and hence, we'd still have Battle Magi, Sirius would probably be – have become their leader...

"He was absolutely brave, and strong, and reckless. His aim was close to unerring, much like some people have absolute hearing, and the formidable power behind his battle spells is probably what accounts for his lack of magic in everyday life.

"Have you ever heard of the Battle Magi of olden days?"

Harry shook his head.

"No? Some of them are said to have almost been Squibs outside of a fight... and that, again, made for trouble. Some, being strong and wilful, hated being at the mercy of their peers in times of peace, and did everything for a war to continue...

"With the rise of more peaceful times, the services of the Battle Magi fell into disuse. Many of them stopped practicing, even went to the Muggle world, and much of their knowledge is buried or lost since it was not written down. They didn't bother to change, so they became extinct, sort of."

The boy's eager and amazed expression told her enough.

"Well, never mind. It's still Binns, is it?"

Harry was startled by that disconnected question, and by what seemed an abrupt change of subject at first, but he then understood, and nodded.

"That old ghost would never consider mentioning affairs that are remotely disgraceful to wizardry, or of any topical interest. No idea why Albus keeps him. It's probably not easy to get rid of the ghost of a teacher."

She smiled at him.

"I'll try to let you do some catching-up with the sort of History of Wizarding that deplorably is not taught here anymore, if you care? While we are at it, in exchange for your tutoring..."

Harry nodded eagerly. So much of this was new to him, and so very different from what he'd learned!

"So, Sirius, by what he was due to a quirk of genes, could not kill innocent folk, no matter if he wanted to. He could do nasty things to them, but never kill them. That is something like the mark of the true Battle Magi. Some parts of the Art can be learned by anyone, and be abused, but not by a true Battle Magus. He or she will, on the other hand, be able to do magic that cannot be learned. One is born to that. Someone like that can't just use any wand either, like you may pick up someone's wand that they dropped, and turn it against them rather successfully. He can try, but it will cost him... I'm sure you have used someone else's wand, haven't you? Not to be able to do that's a huge drawback in a fight, occasionally."

Remembering the struggle against Snape and Pettigrew in the Howling Hut, among a couple of other incidents, Harry nodded. He had at the time put the strain down to Sirius's generally distraught state.

Silva continued.

"I said that his aim was unerring. Sirius could have, had he chosen to use that curse, Kedavra'ed a moskito off someone's forehead, and not leave a scar. You have seen and felt that Unforgivable. You know that if just anyone uses it, for them, it is impossible to control or to dose... But being able to do just that is another sign of the true Battle Magus, or Warlock. Sirius was one in a million, the only one born in generations! In that respect, he was a genius; much like my bro is with his Potions... They are both one of a kind, sort of. Sirius must have been out of practice entirely to have fallen for Bellatrix's tricks just like that."

"It wasn't 'just like that'!" Hearing Voldemort spoken of as 'just anyone' by inference did not register with Harry at the time.

"Well, Harry, you have seen Sirius in the Ministry. I'm sure he fought excellently even though he must have been out of practice completely, even more so than I am now. And Bellatrix is a mean and brilliant fighter, one of those that stop at nothing... From what the Headmaster told me, it was just a stumble and the wrong choice of a hiding place for lack of knowledge that – made Sirius fall through the Veil..."

Looking at his knees to hide the tears that were, once more, welling up at the memory, Harry whispered: "He fought like wild… And then..."

"I'm sure he did! Has Albus, or anyone else, told you about the background of all this?"

Harry shook his head.

"They should, really they should. He always said it was too early... Now we all pay the prize..."

Silva stopped musing and said: "You know, I am not sure but I think that he'd just started to practice again, and was not ready for a fight by far…"

Harry now shuddered. He had made Sirius go into the Ministry, it was his fault... He would not cry in front of this woman, even if she was kind! She was Snape's sister, after all, the sister of his father's worst enemy in school.

Shakily, Harry inhaled, bracing himself.

"Do you think Vol – You-Know-Who knew what Sirius was and wanted to prevent him from becoming strong again?"

"That may well be… I wouldn't know, Harry. But the gist of this is that Sirius Black would never have needed to, or been able to, blow up twelve Muggles, even together with Pettigrew! Albus Dumbledore knew that, but they all thought at the time that Sirius'd been in war stance even if that should not happen – and he may have been, having had his best friends killed by treason. There were doubts...

"I do believe Albus retained his doubts about Black's guilt when he came here after his escape, didn't he?"

Harry, looking at Silva, tried to make out if she was making fun of him.

Silva sensed his distrust, but merely said: "I wasn't there, you know."

"Right, sorry... So, no-one knew that he had shifted that Secret Keeper duty to Peter... Dumbledore trusted my story, and Professor Lupin and my friends could all confirm that they had seen the rat transform. Did you know that he was an Animagus? Sirius, too? And my dad?"

Silva Snape was amazed and Harry revelled in her unmitigated attention.

"No! Were they, indeed – that sure explains several things! This is wild, really! Albus mentioned that Peter Pettigrew had been discovered there alive, after having been someone's pet rat for many years. I thought that bit of it quite funny..."

"You know he was Scabbers? Peter Pettigrew?"

"Scabbers?"

"Ron's pet rat. He'd been living with the Weasleys as a rat for 14 years or so!"

Silva Snape now gaped at the thin boy before her. "And Remus Lupin is in this, too? I know he was supposed to teach here a couple of years ago, with my brother's loving assistance, and that it did not work out. But this is wild! Pettigrew a pet, how fitting!

"The Headmaster told me that the Ministry was having none of this story. He said the Order had no proof since Pettigrew had escaped. Albus never said though that you and your friends were involved in Sirius's escape and Pettigrew's discovery, or that a Weasley was in it as well. Even though it is hard to imagine that anything of import could happen without one of them about... They are always there, a bit like live beacons.

"Imagine how amazed I was to hear that that ugly, dumb kid had managed such a difficult feat! See, I never liked Pettigrew; he was a real jerk – crawling before his friends, and trying to get at the girls in their wake, sometimes using the Marauders as a threat... I could never understand why Sirius and James bore him around. When I asked they only said that people like Peter also need friends. I retorted that my brother did too, and they said that he was a sick creep... And off we were, fighting like wild... never mind.

"Peter being an animagus, however, makes it likely that he wasn't the only one. I doubt he could have managed this kind of highly complicated magic alone..."

"Professor Lupin said it cost them most of three years, and that they did it because of him, to keep him company when he changed..."

"He is a werewolf, I know that. Nice one, too. My brother told me after he found out... If Peter could become a rat, that would at least explain why he was accepted by the Marauders. I never liked to think that they only revelled in his grovelling and fawning.

"That shape ought to be most useful if revulsive. One can get everywhere. It means almost unlimited and inconspicuous access to the Muggle world, too. On the other hand, none of them can have been animagi already when I left Hogwarts..."

"Silva, please tell me what really happened that day in the Shrieking Shack! I only have a few words on it from Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin, and Snape seems to go raving mad whenever the subject is touched!"

Silva Snape sighed.

"I will, I promise, Harry, but not just now. It is a difficult subject, and I can't blame my brother for not forgiving your father and his friends."

"But my father saved his life, in the end!"

"That he did Harry but, as I said, this is a difficult subject, and I'd rather not speak about it now. There are other reasons for my brother's aversions..."

She stopped herself before saying something that might really offend Harry.

"I'd really like to hear your story about Pettigrew's discovery, Harry! For some reason, Albus does not seem to have been generous with information in this instance... I gather he helped Sirius to get away from the Dementor's kiss after all this?"

"Yes... "He let us help Sirius escape – with a time-turner, you know? There was Buckbeak, too..."

Silva shook her head in amazement.

"Who's that?"

"A hippogryph... That was after Sirius had been arrested by Snape, and before the Dementors could get him... Dumbledore told me that there had been times when he believed Sirius to be the murderer... It seems he thinks now that Sirius and... and probably my Dad too had attempted to spy on the Death Eaters..."

Harry was amazed to find Silva Snape staring at him in great surprise. Almost exasperated, he said: "But surely, you must know… You are an Order member..."

"No," said Silva in agitation, "I'm not, and I know nothing of this! It's not like what happened is general knowledge! See, the Headmaster has only given me a very raw outline of events, due to a general lack of time whenever we meet – met. I remember Albus mentioning the possibility of their attempt at spying in passing, a long time ago. He said it would have been just like them to not inform him or the Order about something like that, but since it was all surmise, we did not dwell on it.

"But – are you saying that YOU helped Sirius escape from Hogwarts? And do I get you right that he stayed in the Howling Hut?"

"Yes, I, Ron and Hermione were there, and it wasn't me who discovered him, Hermione and Remus Lupin did! Sirius knew about Pettigrew, he had seen his picture in Azkaban. That is why he escaped! We didn't believe him at first."

Silva was gaping now unabashedly, not looking very pretty. She closed her mouth with a snap when she found Harry smile at her. Harry, in his turn, was beginning to enjoy surprising her.

"Now this is..."

Harry shook his head in amazement.

"I still can't believe that you don't know a thing about this... On the other hand, hardly anyone does – we had to keep Sirius safe... What happened is still so vividly present for me, even though many other things have happened in the meantime..."

Silva smiled at the young man before him.

"I know that feeling. Some things, one will never forget for the rest of one's life, and it's hard to imagine that nobody else knows about them, because they changed everything..."

Harry nodded. He was serious again, and Silva felt pain and anger growing in him once more.

"If Snape… if Prof…"

"Oh, leave it be, Harry!" Silva said, grinning.

"If Snape had not barged in on us and disturbed things, we might even have arrested Peter Pettigrew! It was his fault that he got away! Snape wanted to kill Sirius and Professor Lupin too, handing them over to the Dementors! He was like mad! It was him who wouldn't listen to what Sirius had to say, and turned him over to the Ministry in the end!"

This was Silva's turn to shudder.

Harry's mind was overflowing with questions and grief simultaneously. Suddenly it appeared to him that all Silva had said about Sirius had been meant to make him feel his loss and cry.

And that was true – Silva could sense the pain closing up Harry's mind, cramping his insides, confusing him, and wanted to draw about the release for him.

She had done that quite successfully before with others.

Unadmitted tears were clogging the boy's throat already, making him swallow hard every other instant, but young Harry was not ready yet. He would be soon, though, and Albus had been right – she WAS needed here... Not that being needed had great priority in her life.

There were clouds of guilt that Harry had to get rid of.

And Silva Snape still had not answered his initial question.

They sat in silence for some time. The boy must be allowed to regain his composure, and get ready for the eventual shedding of tears over someone he'd loved but could not talk about to anyone who had a greater picture.

Silva considered how to continue this. It would be a kind of torture for her, not only for Harry, to give the boy the view she had of his father and his friends today. Yes, those two Marauders had been bullies in school – James much more so than Sirius for reasons she had named: out of sheer boredom, and something that was not all that different from a Death Eater's pureblood arrogance, only the other way round. She had not been their target, but her brother had. They liked to have a clown of their own around, someone who sucked up to them...

Remus had always tried to moderate, but even as a Prefect, he'd been a failure in that where his friends were concerned. He needed them too much – that had been obvious, even if one did not know what they really had done for him. When in a good mood, the Marauders had been great fun, and she able to divert some of their misdemeanour from Severus who had only hated her for that in turn…

Eventually, all of them had grown out of those childish games… Or so Silva preferred to think.

After some minutes, she continued.

"I was sure – I knew all along that Sirius was sent to Azkaban for something he could not possibly have committed, if he was still anything like the Sirius I had adored as a second-year girl, and despised later that same year already as a Snape for never leaving my brother alone. He never changed in his affections and dislikes, and he would never have betrayed James – your father."

Harry's eyes were filled with tears, but he would not let go.

Harry stammered: "He – he d-died in the f-fight in... in the Ministry, because of me..."

Harry did not continue – nor did he cry, yet. Silva decided to give Harry time to make up his mind for himself when to breach the subject of Sirius again.

Silva looked at him for a moment, realising it would be okay to go on.

He'd crack up eventually, and soon.

Albus would be the one to take the first blast of this; not her, or her brother.

Attempting to draw Harry's attention away from painful memories that he was not ready to face yet by all appearances, Silva continued with her own story.

"I may have relieved myself from this school in fourth year, but I did try and stayed in touch with things, as I said. Not many people have ever managed to hide things or thoughts from me anyway. I do not need a wand for that. My brother is exellent at Occlumency and Legilmency, as you know, but with me it is a natural gift.

"I, like Severus, would probably have made an excellent Auror, I think. It's only that the Snape name won't really go well with that... Nor does taking sides though, and with the Ministry policy of abandoning so much of the old pureblood glory...

"Whatever relatives I have left would never have stood for it, and I'd have been at the receiving end of worse than howlers. Not that I cared. For me, there were more important reasons against that job. For instance, there would be – would have been a fair chance that Severus and I would have met on opposite sides in a battle. I could not have born that! Besides, I never finished school, as I said.

"There are other good reasons not to become an Auror, too. There were then, and are now, things going on in the Ministry that decent and law-minded Aurors should not stand for... You did get a taste of that in connection with Alastair Moody, didn't you?"

Silva had heard from Dumbledore how the Ministry had acted when Sirius had finally been arrested (rather than about the manner of his flight) too, but this was a subject to be avoided right now.

Harry gave no sign of listening; he was staring at the points of his shoes or thereabouts.

"I do think you are considering that job an option, right? You should know about those things. I'll tell you another time if you want me to. Maybe we can bring up the subject with your defence club – Dumbledore's Army, is that? Surely there are others who consider that job?"

Harry did not react, but Silva did not mind, the question being rhethorical anyway.

"In any case, I never enjoyed using my knowledge of people against them, be they who they may. Tom Riddle excepted, of course."

"Couldn't you teach me? Instead of- of... him?" Harry asked disconnectedly.

"Me? Teach you? Not history? You teach me, rather…"

Silva was befuddled, but for an instant only.

"Oh, Occlumency? Sorry, Harry, but no. I could not because I never went through the motions – I've never had to learn it in the way you have to. What I had to learn was to sort out the voices in my head, and not cringe at many, many of the thoughts I had to receive and that I could not block out while still a child. So many things that a child cannot conceive of, and should be spared...

"You know, I also do get emotions and so on, often in the shape of colours, or smells. Muggles have that, too, if in a much weaker way. It is called Synaesthesia, and has only recently attracted the interest of their scientists on a larger scale.

"Did you know that trees, for instance, feel and sing, in a way? They dream up their blossoms... Then they burst into song, sort of, when the blossoms open, much like a log does burst into flames... To them, all is bliss, the flowering, and the end of it, spring as well as autumn. They are invincible, spirit of life, and in a sense, they 'know' that... I can see and hear this, and feel the heat, the love of life in that... It is very beautiful, and hard to stand for a human being.

Silva paused, hoping that she had not sounded too potty just now, but Harry still was only half-listening, lost inhis own thoughts.

"I learned the hard way not to judge what I came by by that Gift. I had to learn to close myself up to my own noise as well as the incoming static, and I had to do that all on my own at a very early age. What one sees and feels in the mind is entirely subjective, and does not necessarily correspond to reality in any way except, maybe, a symbolical manner. My methods cannot be transferred to someone who does not feel and see the world in a similar way.

"In the old families, this gift is thrown upon children occasionally, mostly on females, and not too many of them live to go to school. Of those again, few remain sane... I was lucky so far, even if my dear brother occasionally asserts the need to claim custody for me– which now is not an issue anymore…"

The witch inhaled deeply, trying not to touch upon that painful subject.

"Being able to shut out those perceptions and voices was essential, living among the Muggles – they are mentally babbling all the time. Most of them can't stand a moment of silence. If they don't talk crap in their minds, think about food, or their need to lay someone, or their wish to kill them, and preferably the same person in the same instant for the same confused reasoning, they constantly hum to themselves the most horrible sounds.

"They are never quiet of mind like wizards are, in between actions. This is, by the way, one of the criteria that make the Gift easily detectable to other wizards, or the Ministry, helping to mark those Gifted in Muggle families? They can't be heard, mentally... Which, on the other hand, also makes for the occasional miss.

"Let me give you an example. It's not a happy one.

"If you lock the average Muggle up in the dark with his likes, they are very likely to try and go about fighting for predominance over whatever is there – a stone to sit on, the spot at the window, or at the food flap – and kill each other, or submit... Once finished with the violence or rather, establishing of who gets at whom, they will fuck each other mindlessly just because they cannot stand the darkness quietly by themselves, what with the babble in their heads driving them to do this and that. This is much like what rats will do.

"Humans hardly ever, without an authority around, will share or become sociable of themselves, while they could be just that just as well by choice – or become still for instance to merely listen, or even stop to listen to their inner psychobabble whenever they like... If they just bothered. As it seems, they hardly ever turn to face themselves, trying to still their minds.

"Some few Muggles have achieved inner quiet and control of their thoughts to some extent, but it is a terribly hard struggle for most of them..."

Silva had the boy's full attention by that. Harry considered what he'd just heard, more than a bit shocked. He wasn't sure that he understood what Silva was talking about.

"Huh – you don't really like Muggles either, then?"

"No, Harry, that is not it. This has got nothing to do with liking someone, individually, or because of the group they belong to. I just have no qualms about what Muggles are and why they can be dangerous to wizards, as well as to themselves. It's their fears... I've got no qualms about wizards either, believe you me!"

"See, the noises they make are not always ugly or scary. Some Muggles are really nice. They sing or hum, sort of like the trees; there is a harmony in them. Your mom's family was like that for instance, most of them. Admittedly, not many of them are like that... They hadn't become quiet, but found a harmony, which I believe is just as good. Sometimes, I think that Muggles are sort of a like a musical instrument out of tune… Never mind."

Silva paused.

"With me, still reading other people's thoughts, while I can control that ability and switch it off at will, is just big fat curiosity. I think it saved this cat's skin more than once. I want to know what things are, and why they are what they are. I do believe that some of that is in you, too?"

Harry glanced at her, thoughtfully. He didn't understand all of what Silva Snape had said, but he was sure he trusted her, and that what she was saying might be helpful eventually. Having her know about one's secrets and pain would no t be too bad. There was something as soothing as tenderweed about her.

Harry's thoughts snapped back to what she had said about Muggles.

"Locking them up – that is horrible! You just said that to annoy me, didn't you?"

"No, Harry. I am not my brother. There have been experiments, conducted by the Muggles themselves, by their scientists. They wanted to know why, after blackouts, and during wars, birthrates rise in the areas affected.

"And... well, there has also been some such thing commited by Voldemort, during his first reign – well, period of power –, which went horribly wrong along the lines of what I said, in the manner I described, and hence right for him, proving his point: he abducted and locked up 25 Muggles in a dark dungeon without any wardens to stop things. They, instead of working together to free themselves, or trying to at least, turned against each other, behaving worse than rats in all manners, and ended up killing each other – all dead in less than a month... They were not starved or anything. Not one was killed by the direct intervention of a Death Eater! Voldemort made sure the remains of that experiment were found, and explained in detail. The Muggles were horrified. It is still one of the worst and most mysterious cases of mass-murder outside of a war in their criminal textbooks.

"Riddle wanted to show wizardkind how very inferior and worthless Muggles are, and he did succeed with that one... with the old purebloods, in any case..."

"This is revolting!"

"It truly is, Harry. But you can't blame the Dark Lord for that one entirely... Muggles lock each other up all of the time just to achieve such effects..."

"Well, I think not."

"Hm. Do you know about the Great Witch-Hunts?"

Harry just stared.

"Oh, right, Binns again. Sorry, but I forgot! If someone ever was stillborn, dead right from the day of his birth, that ghost was! Never taught anyone anything of use, and what there could be of interest in his subjects he brings up in a way that bores one senseless. Being a ghost, he is not likely to have changed... His being dead for a good two centuries by now of course does not help to qualify him to teach Recent History either. This is, by the way, a relatively new concept with the Muggles, too. They seem to realise that there is a value in trying to learn to avoid the repetition of recently made mistakes, instead of, say, looking back very far and idealise what one can never know for sure to have been real. I think, Harry, there is a lot in history that kids should know about today, in order for it to not repeat itself!"

"You sound like Dumbledore right now, you know."

Harry still was not sure he got her meaning.

Silva smiled.

"Do I? I frankly do not understand why the Headmaster does not hire someone else, at least in addition, to teach that subject. Not that Binns would mind an empty classroom in front of him.

"In any case, I think my gift was one reason why my dear brother was very good at the Mencies even before he got to Hogwarts."

Harry did not understand at first. When he did he just had to smile.

Thinking of Snape trying to escape a thought-reading sister by a variety of desperate attempts was quite attractive... particularly in view of his own upcoming lessons.

He'd be hard-put to avoid that mental picture from now on. It was sure to raise the Professor's wrath... Just one more reason to try and be REALLY good at the subject, to not give Silva Snape away to her brother.

"May I ask you something else, er – Silva? It's rather personal…"

The first-name basis was still not familiar, but Harry did try.

"Go ahead, Harry."

Harry looked at her. He'd figured out the lifespan thing alright, but – no, it was impossible. Yet, by what she had said...

"Erh, Silva...?"

"Harry?"

"How old are you, then?"

"Me? Oh, forty-ish, became 42 in May."

"You must be, or about, I guessed that much, but I just can't believe it... You really mean to tell me you are that old! I thought you were, say, 26, maybe ten years older than me! At the utmost!"

"Oh, how very flattering, my dear young man, thank you very much!"

Speaking like that, she sounded – well, sqawky, a bit like Professor Trelawney maybe, and really auntish. Had they been to school together, too? Harry had to laugh.

Silva smiled back widely. "Now you do know how to pay a girl compliments, don't you? A charmer you are, just like James was!"

Suddenly, she giggled in a very silly and artificial manner, reminding Harry of Pansy Parkinson and Lavender Brown simultaneously. But Silva obviously was not serious, even if she'd honestly enjoyed what he'd said. This was playacting, and her whole attitude was infectuous. Her mood had changed completely. Silva had thrown off what weighed each of them down effortlessly for the time being. Right now, she imitated an elderly lady, blushing and holding a handbag. Her antics and her demeanour were so funny that Harry couldn't stop laughing, and it felt so good... When had he done this last? Surely not in Dumbledore's office in a long time...

When making plans, yes. But that had been not quite as... innocent.

"Really, I wouldn't have thought..."

"Silva, there is another thing still. You said you didn't finish school... Dumbledore told me, too. Like... Like Hagrid, maybe? You know?" Harry volunteered, a bit warily, hoping this would not raise her hackles. For all Harry knew Silva hadn't been accused of things, but from what he gathered, she'd have preferred to stay on at Hogwarts. He wanted to know why but felt he could not ask such a question just like that.

"Hagrid? Hm – yes, probably... I didn't even get to take my O.W.L.s. Pretty much like Hagrid, come to think of it, only that I left of my own volition – well, sort of. I was accused of no crime. Much later it was, too."

"Like Fred and George, then?"

"Weasley that would be, Arthur's twins? Those two that you are writing with?"

Harry nodded.

"Maybe – I only know about the Weasley twins what Albus told me, but I do like those two from that alone, you see? Is it true that they turned the fifth floor into a swamp last year, called their brooms into the Great Hall through the closed office door of that Umbridge woman, and took off in front of the whole school?"

When Harry nodded again, grinning widely now, Silva Snape smiled. "I think I'd have loved to have seen that!"

Harry said "You know, I tried to convince them to come back here, but they refused – they even hexed my ears when I wouldn't stop. That was when we met in the Headmaster's office. Their Wizard Wheezes business is a huge success, and they say they won't just give that up again for some stupid exams. But they'd be a tremendous help!"

So that was what that blackmail thing had been about.

"I don't see that Voldemort can be laughed to death, but ridiculing the Death Eaters surely would be a good idea…"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"They promised to help, too. They are going to send in things…"

He realised that Silva had no idea of the suspicions he and his friends held about the about Snape and the Dark Arts, so he stopped speaking.

"I suspect you miss them? Let's hope my brother is around when their jokes hit Hogwarts! He needs that! But let's go eat lunch. I think we are late already."

They got up and walked toward the great castle, laughing and making things up that could happen to the Death Eaters and Severus Snape by Wizard Wheezes. By the time they reached the steps of the main entrance, Harry was completely at ease with the witch by his side, and felt like he had known her for ages. The pressure that had weighed him down when talking about Sirius was forgotten once again.


	16. The Patents

**16. The Patents**

Next morning, old Weasley familiar Erol tumbled into Ron's cornflakes, wearily holding out a voluminous letter to him.

Harry hurried toward the Gryffindor table a bit late. Ron saw him, and hollered, the owl twisting in hands: "Oi, Harry – there you are – here's news! I've meant to tell you that I sent an owl to Fred and George about the patents! This must be their reply!"

When Ron had untied the message, Erol helped himself to some of the milk him was sitting in. Harry idly fed the frail ancient bird bits of warm sausage and pie that he took greedily while his friend opened the letter.

Out fell some small bags that Ron put aside. He drew out the parchment. After some moments, Harry heard him giggle.

Ron said: "Listen, Harry – remember what Hermione said about Snape supposedly holding some weird patents which might be Dark Arts, that Dumbledore mentioned in passing and didn't tell her anything more about? I wrote to Fred and George about that Potions-is-Dark-Arts-lessons idea and what Hermione said about those patents Snape holds, and would they look them up so we might know what they are about even if Dumbledore won't tell us? Fred and George were at the Office for the Registration of Wizarding Inventions – Hermione should like THAT name! Where is she anyway?"

"I think there was something she wanted to talk to McGonagall about," said Harry

"Oh. Well, Fred and George have looked into... our affair, among other things. They are excited, I think. Seems they found something, too."

After that announcement, Ron grew more and more quiet reading on, and after a while, he exclaimed: "No! This is… I can't believe it!"

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"You won't believe this, Harry..."

"Try me," Harry said dryly.

Ron lowered his voice to an agitated whisper.

"They are at the Wizarding Patents Office anyway a lot those days, to register some of their own new stuff, and to do some research. And you know what?"

Harry nodded eagerly but Ron said nothing, enjoying himself greatly reading on until Harry impatiently urged him to speak on.

"Go on; don't make such a show of it!"

Ron's voice became even more conspirational.

"They can't do it! Even before they delved into the files to look up what we wanted to know, they came across his name – Snape is holding patents to certain inventions that they themselves were about to claim. Some of them are as old as 25 years! I understand they are not jokes, but basics rather, useful for jokes, or shows, and many other things, too. And his rights are written out in such a clever manner that Fred and George can't even use parts of their own ideas, for fear of being sued for infringement, or whatever that is called – their inventions are so similar sometimes that they'd have to buy the rights off Snape to pursue their business if they don't want to drop the idea altogether! Isn't that weird? Snape inventing jokes and things, and not the mean, say, torturing, kind of potions… Strange too we should ask, they write – they had hoped no-one would notice so that they might be able to use some of their own stuff anyway… They count on our discretion there, of course. That nasty git is impeding their affairs even now that they've left school!"

Harry stared at his friend in surprise.

"I can't believe that..."

Ron greatly enjoyed to have Harry gaping at news he delivered for once, and not the other way round, and continued in a mixture of glee and anger.

"Neither can I, but there you are. They got into research mode immediately upon receiving my letter of course, and looked into some of the other things of Snape's, too. Some, they say, are downright weird, and they can't make much of them yet but that they are not Dark by all appearances. The Wolfsbane potion is on his list as well, according to what they found. They say they saw no Dark Arts stuff at all so far, unless basic Wheezes were to be counted as Dark, and that now they understand a lot better why it was that their jokes went wrong so often in Potions. By our request, they found several other things there that they'd planned to work on themselves in the future!

"They are lain out beautifully, perfect for their use and to their purposes, Fred and George say! Would spare them a lot of work, months of research to say the least, not to mention equipment, if they could obtain them. But they don't have the money yet – even if they had, can you imagine Snape, of all people, letting them use his things? This way, they write, they might as well stuff it – at least they found out before they seriously started working, so we saved them a lot of trouble. In turn, they forgive your attempts at getting them to come back to Hogwarts, which they still won't, even now, I am to tell you."

Harry shook his head. Snape might not be what he seemed to be, but his assisting Fred and George in setting up a joke shop in a grand manner was inconceivable either way. There was no chance that the Potions Professor would bring down jokes on his head the basics of which he had invented himself!

Ron continued: "Fred and George say the inventions are so well done that even now, more than 20 years after most of them have been registered, not to mention been made, no-one could possibly come up with better stuff, or with anything to get around them, at least not without a tremendous amount of work and money involved. And they are good for 50 years beyond the death of their owner! Can you believe it, Harry? Snape, of all people, was into jokes and show stuff headlong at one time, it seems! According to this letter Fred and George think they needn't bother since the patenting the git has done is waterproof. It even blocks things related to Snape's inventions that might come in handy!"

"They are quite at a loss what to do now, because surely Snape would never ever grant them the use of his stuff, and they can't really proceed without that, or without violating his rights. In any case, he's sure to attach a price to his inventions that they can never afford even if he was willing to sell them, or whatever it is that you do with patents."

Hermione, who had joined them, inquired what their whispered conversation was about, and they boys said they'd tell her later.

When they did, during the break before Potions, she exclaimed: "See? I said it all would come to light eventually!"

"It seems to me," said Harry ponderously, "that this coming-to-light of Snape's patents is very much Dumbledore's doing, with your help..."

Hermione gave him a curt, suspicious look at that.

"He plays everyone, you know?"

The main subject of their conversation entered in his usual brisk manner, bidding the class silence, and Hermione could not reply to what Harry had said.

-------------

After a week that had been highly eventful for him, what with the patents surprise, Hermione's ideas, Silva Snape's return to the wizarding world, their first meeting to help Silva re-establish her knowledge of the wizarding Arts, the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army, the terrible things he had to listen to, and his various almost-successful attempt to apologize to the Potions Professor, Harry Potter was looking forward to some quiet evening hours in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had set this date only the day before, and had not found time to meet Harry at any other time that week.

Harry was sure that other gruesome events would have to be told in the course of the story, and probably tonight too, but he was happy that he'd heard about Idane's death already, and would not have to face something like that today. He was in a good mood. The peace of the circular room and Fawkes's presence would be a relief after the lively din of the Common Room.

Right after they'd finished dinner, Harry went to see the old wizard. He was rather early in his arrival at the headmaster's office.

Upon knocking, he was invited to enter, but stopped dead when he saw that the Headmaster already had a visitor.

A big, red-haired man was pacing in front of Albus Dumbledore's desk, and he must just have said something funny, because both men were laughing.

Only when he turned his bespectacled head, Harry recognized the man. It was Arthur Weasley who had come to see the Headmaster. He was in a suit the like of which Harry had never seen on him, and it became him well.

Harry beamed at him. "Mr Weasley! How are you? How is everyone?"

"Arthur it is, Harry, please do try – I won't have you call me mister after what you did for me last year," the father of his best friend said.

Harry blushed.

Arthur ignored his discomfort.

"So, Harry, good to see you so well. I just told the Headmaster about the endeavours of my twins… It seems that you and Ron set them on their track? Now how on earth did you find out about it?"

Harry was befuddled, but it slowly dawned on him. Snape's inventions –

"I think the Headmaster mentioned the patents to Hermione in passing, and we wanted to know whether they might be Dark, or dangerous in some other way. Ron said that his brothers were at that Patents Office anyway, and owled them."

Arthur Weasley gave Albus Dumbledore a sharp look who silenty shook his head in what appeared to be honest and puzzled denial.

Harry grinned.

"Ron got a letter in return today… Fred and George must be exasperated!"

"You bet they are, Harry! My colleague Ataraxia Cobblewith, who's in charge of the Patents Office, told me that my sons have been showing up there on a daily basis lately, rifling through patents issued in the area of sweets, potions, hovering charms, magical packaging and disguises, show stuff, etc., and looking for unusual inventions in general.

"Fred and George were most polite with her, by the way. They approached her a couple of days ago, asking specifically to see all patents issued to the name of Snape. She said they had come across one of those before, seemed interested, but had put it aside again.

"There were quite a lot. Ataraxia said that after she brought them for the boys to read she had a hard time keeping her composure. Fred and George, on looking through them, went into fits of admiring sounds it seems, putting aside only a few of what must have been fifty-odd patents. But eventually they stopped reading altogether, staring at each other and looking crestfallen."

Arthur snorted with amusement, and Harry was sure he'd heard a cackle from the Headmaster. While he pitied Fred and George, this was just what he wanted to know, and he couldn't help grinning on imagining the look on the twins' faces when they found out.

Arthur Weasley continued with his story after a sip of tea.

"They eventually came up and asked her if one S.Snape, Esq. whom most of said patents had been made out to would by any chance NOT be THE S.Snape, now a Potions Professor at Hogwarts? She looked that up for them and, to their chagrin and annoyance, had to confirm that sorry, but he was. Their mood dropped spectacularly at that, she said, and the information sent them reeling with disbelief too, I think.

"Apparently, my sons moaned that several of the best things they had ever seen were issued already, and to that particular S.Snape of all people; that they'd hoped to get ideas, but not even dreamt of finding that much of what they were intending to work at had already been done, and was basically ready to be used!"

Dumbledore giggled again. "Nice thought to find these two bewildered themselves for once!"

"So close and yet out of their reach entirely... Their research robbed them of some of their good hopes, since your Potions master seems to have been as thorough in the inventing as in the applications business. Just the stuff they wanted, but not protected like that…

"I doubt that they will dare to approach him to obtain rights to use some of them. I think they ought to though... Really, Albus, I think the boys should try just to make sure…"

Harry threw in: "Snape surely wouldn't ever let them have them, don't you think, sir?"

"Don't be too sure now, Harry...," the Headmaster said, giving him a long and thoughtful look. Without asking him, they will never know. Arthur is right, you see?"

Arthur went on.

"The twins have been talking of nothing else since. In some of the patents, another name showed: Idane Groenbergsdottir. They asked me about her. I had to rack my brain a bit, but eventually remembered that she was that rather attractive part-giant, part-Muggle artist who did those really great shows-between-the-worlds back in the 60's or early 70's, and that Snape might have been working for her then. When I told Fred and George that there had been rumours that those two were lovers, they went into fits, and would not have one word of it. She vanished at the height of her career, didn't she?"

Albus nodded, his face giving nothing away.

"She's probably gone back to the Muggle world for good, or to her giant ancestors. Wellwellwell... However, I must be going myself."

Arthur turned to Harry, smiling widely, and said: "You know, Harry, I've been promoted. I'm in charge of the Department of Muggle Relations now. That way, I should be able to do a lot of work for the Order."

Harry gaped. "So you're a Minister yourself now, sort of? That's great!"

"Sort of, Harry, and with a lot of work to do ahead. It seems Fudge has realised that he needs someone sympathetic to Muggles in such a position now that You-know-who is back. The Minister's really done me something good there, too – it's not merely office work, so I can personally stay in touch with the Muggles, and those incredible inventions they make. I even get to meet some of them on a regular basis – their relations people, and I've been told that they are really nice. Also, it is paid A LOT better. We're going to have the Burrow renovated thoroughly next spring, Harry. You are invited to help!"

"Yes, of course, I'd love to!" Harry smiled. "But… you won't change the kitchen, or buy Muggle designer furniture, will you?"

"Muggle designer? Hmm.. what is that?"

Harry made a face. A bad idea to mention this!

"They build ugly, dys-functional, non-magical furniture that no-one really can live in," he ventured, quite unjustly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could make out a wide grin on Dumbledore's face.

"Ah," made Arthur Weasley, "now why should they do that…? However, we are not changing the kitchen, no. Molly won't have it. But there must be a new range, and you know how the roof is leaking everywhere… Would you tell Ron and Ginny? I think they'll be very pleased, but I have to be off again right away, there's no time to find them. No end of work yet today. Say sorry about that for me and give them both a hug, will you?"

Harry nodded.

"So goodbye, Harry, it was good to see, you, and thank you, Albus, for…"

Arthur pulled Harry toward him by his shoulders, just not hugging him himself, "… and thank you, again."

"Don't mention it, Arthur, it was nothing," said Dumbledore in deliberate mis-apprehension to take the awkwardness out of the situation for Harry. "It was very good of you to stop by and let me know personally. Your new schedule must be pretty tight…"

"Yes, it sure will be soon, but right now, we are still setting up office, and my crew is getting ready to brief me. Sounds great, doesn't it?"

"Say hallo to Molly for me!" Albus Dumbledore said.

Harry added: "For me, too!"

Mr. Weasley nodded, beamed at both of them in turn, said goodbye, stepped into the floo, and was gone in a green flash.


	17. Snape's Actions

**17. Snape's Actions**

After his best friend's father had left, Harry settled uneasily into his now-accustomed chair in front of the headmaster's desk. He was not sure he could relax right now, but still felt good.

On being offered, Harry refused the lemon drops, gratefully accepted the tea and some cookies, and grinned at Dumbledore's remark about how much better the sweets were whenever Harry visited him, wondering how Dobby would know. He tried to relax into what was to come, though he was quite sure that the ugliest part of the story was finished.

The previous nights, Harry had slept well due to the Dreamless Sleep draught, but bits and mental images of the story had haunted his waking hours, being worst whenever he got a glimpse of his Potions Professor. For some reason, what he felt toward Snape was not pity at all for what the Professor had lived through, but rather a kind of fear that Snape might know that Harry knew – which of course was silly not matter how one looked at it, but nothing doing.

"Before we start, Harry, let me know how your tutoring is going. You've met with dear Silva for practice already, have you?"

Harry nodded.

"How is she doing, then?"

"Oh, she's really nice, sir, hard to…" He stopped in mid-sentence.

"Hard to imagine that the Professor is her brother?" Dumbledore smiled. "True enough…"

This wasn't embarrassing for once. Harry added: "She picks up very fast on everything, and taught me some things in her turn. We also talk a lot. If only…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Oh, nothing important really, sir."

Harry thought that he probably felt so tense right now because he did not quite know what to expect next from this tale, except that he was still not very happy with the fact that he'd have to reconcile fully with the brooding Potions Master who seemed not at all willing to move into his direction as much as a hair's breadth... Harry had no idea how to go about is task there even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't if he was honest. There was the urgency to his learning that, on the other hand, he understood only too well...

When Harry would say no more, the Headmaster spoke.

Let me continue if you are ready, Dumbledore inquired, after a while. Can you take it?

Harry nodded absentmindedly. Then, returning to the present, he added "Yes, sir, I think so."

"You've heard the gruesome story now of how that very special woman Idane was murdered.

"After the light of life in her eyes had gone out, Professor Snape found he could now light a fire in the fireplace without having howling glowballs released at him from the chimney – but after throwing the remaining floopowder on the grate, he refrained from calling the hospital or the Aurory. What use would it have been? Too late now, and no use upsetting anyone... Also, he had a suspicion that his associate Death Eaters might have re-routed this chimney. That way he could end up somewhere very far away if he dared to travel – or, worse still, at his lord's feet which right then would have been too much to bear, even in a firecall.

"So, Severus put wards up around the apartment, and also a silencing charm. He doused the flames a bit and settled close to the fire, Idane's lifeless and limp body in his arms. Thus he sat in silent darkness for the rest of the night, staring into the flickering embers unmoving, thinking and mourning.

"Severus noticed, incidentally, that Idane's body never became stiff and cold as corpses usually do, and figured it must have been due to the kind of curses and amount of torture inflicted, but he did not really care to find the reason for that.

"Your teacher did not scream his pain, nor did he curse or cry. He just sat, cradling the body of his beloved, and tried to assess his situation, by sheer cold will pushing pain and desperation aside.

"The meaning of Severus's life had been extinguished with her, in her eyes. Most everything that he had done in his life looked wrong now, in the light of this horrible murder. Severus Snape had known for some time by then that he would not be able to follow Voldemort's path any further, but had yet been unable to admit as much if only before himself.

"Idane had instilled the concept of compassion in him, an understanding that not just life or the feeling of pain were universal – that even those beings considered inferior by far did suffer in much the same way a wizard did, the suffering in itself and its profoundness being similar. Hence, the inflicting of pain for whatever reasons was not a pastime, but to be avoided. The pain there was, even if felt by a worm, was the pain of all... There is no individual relief to it.

"They had talked about this. While Severus had argued that admitting to pity, or succumbing to pain, in itself were marks of inferiority, opening oneself to all kinds of exploitation and idiocy, Idane could make him understand that, while 'pity', in common usage at least, often came **to **the recipient broke and empty, compassion was not something to be had as cheap as that, though. True compassion, she had contended, demanded action of the right kind, and the braving of ridicule and cowardliness, and a precise knowledge of what things were. Probably no-one else could have made him understand that, but Idane was one to live this concept every day, not denying herself her failures, and never despairing of her own ineptitude and weaknesses. That in itself he had found hard to believe when Idane had said so: she was not inept or weak in any way! And she had always known what things were to her, by her love of everything there is.

"Severus Snape's recollection of this particular discussion was (and likely is) still so vivid that it, even among the devastation of his memories of that time, has the feeling of a beacon of light to it. It deserves to be passed on.

"When Severus recalled it that night, the understanding of his loss settled in, but he was far from tears. He would live – for revenge, if for nothing else. Idane had been right not to doubt that, or him, for a moment, even in dying.

"Your Professor knew only too well that none of the Death Eaters had ever had any notion of compassion (or love and its loss, for that matter), and Voldemort less still – and that to have a grasp of that concept probably meant to truly change sides: from the superior to the inferior, from the winners to the losers, from predator to prey. But then, how was it that those self-declared winners would not always win, that the world was not one of just hunters and their prey, of sheer force and the succumbing to it...? Not always, not everywhere. And Severus Snape regarded such events and places as oases, now. Maybe this point of view even meant he'd never truly been on their side...

"He did not then bother to follow that distracting train of thought further but decided that, notwithstanding his unrumpled belief in the supremacy of purebloods, he'd irrevocably changed sides. Nor would he ever think anything less of himself for it.

"Professor Snape has always believed in that superiority, and still does till today, as you well know. He was, and is, full of contempt of Muggle-born wizards and Squibs in general, and fears the Giants just as most everybody does. Yet, although Idane embodied everything he was supposed to hate, she had been the only thing that ever had made him feel his life worthwhile living, and marked love as existent. His alliance to the Dark Lord had done no such thing for him.

"While still feeling close to everything that Voldemort's ideas and will incorporated, the impact of the events had cut him off from the violence of its perpetration, and also the hatred, and hence the fold of his fellow Death Eaters, with finality.

"Severus Snape lost his love, his purpose of life, and his deepest beliefs all in one night...

"He did hate then and still does now hate Voldemort with all of his being –and his hate has very strong foundations. It is based on experience and personal knowledge, not on prejudice and beliefs. His actions are based on obtaining revenge, yet they are not directed by hate. That tremendous force, he will only appeal to in times of dire need – like an actual fight... It is kindled, almost forgotten, somewhere deep inside. In not being used, it may even gain impact... Some great wizards have used their anger like this. It prevents you from being engineered through it by your enemy... You don't need any personal grounds to operate it like that – you just need clear objectives. If you don't control it, it will be nerve in a battle – interfering when you want that last. There's only one rule to it: let it never, ever direct you. You direct it. You might imagine, Harry, that this is not easy..."

The Headmaster had never looked at Harry while he said that, but Harry was sure anyway that the old man was referring to him and his own displays of wrath.

Dumbledore continued: "The Mencies are one set of techniques to help control it, on an advanced level, that is...

"But he does hate me," Harry interrupted. "He shows as much in each single lesson."

"No, Harry." Friendly old eyes twinkled at him over half-moon glasses.

"What he makes you feel, and believe he feels, is nowhere near hate. Voldemort hates you. It will be easy to understand the difference if you compare their attitudes. What is more, you would recognise Severus Snape's hate if you saw it, and you do not wish to do that, trust me. Most of what you perceive in the Professors lessons is merely your own resentment reflected. Severus makes a point of mirroring his students' aversions.

"Furthermore, Severus might be bitter and unjust occasionally, but he's a master at separating that from real hate... and the actions they induce. He only failed once in all the years he taught here.

Harry stared at the old Headmaster in amazement. He'd never thought it possible to look at an emotion in so dispassionate a manner, nor had he thought before of hate – or love – as a real, raw energy at his command, much like Muggle electricity. His impression had always been that most people, like his aunt and uncle, were driven by them, and that no-one bothered to resist and steer them because it was not possible anyway... That notion seemed to be wrong.

Dumbledore noted his surprise.

"It would do you good, Harry, to try and find out what hate really is and how it can be contained, quite beside Occlumency lessons. I'll always be ready to discuss those matters with you, provided we can keep Voldemort out...

"But let us go back to the story. Professor Snape was considering his options after Idane's death.

"So what was to be done about the mess he was in now? If he reported a Death Eater attack to the Aurory, the torture, mutilation, and the terrible murder of a famous Muggle artist, he would have to turn her mangled body over to the Ministry of Magic for autopsy, endure the ensuing endless red tape, and relive repeatedly what he had seen by induction. Most of which he'd rather not give away, not even to me. It seems that the version I repeated to you, Harry, is already heavily edited where the bloodshed is concerned..."

Albus Dumbledore shook his head. "I shudder to think..."

After a pause, he continued. "Furthermore, Severus Snape would very likely have found himself under suspicion and questioned by Aurors and, once they'd discover his being a Death Eater which was bound to happen in the course of a thorough investigation, would have to face the not-too-thin chance of being accused and put to trial for killing her himself, apart from the other things he might be blamed for, being guilty of them or not.

"He'd be subjected to Veritaserum and other truth-finding means. If Severus was lucky, that was – wizards had been sent to Azkaban without as much as a hearing lately, which had some people wonder about the real difference between the Death Eaters and their own Ministerial officials who were supposed to protect them, and about possible influences of one on the other.

"All of those reasons were very good to put before his master, too. Severus knew he would have to face Voldemort eventually, and should be prepared.

"In any case, a Soniverirus is rather careful than dead, by tradition and attitude if not by motto."

Dumbedore's gesture brooked no interruption.

"Hence, reporting the crime was not a recommendable course of action altogether even in those days, what with the general panic that the fear of Voldemort's actions and the Death Eaters had created among wizardkind, and with fanatic, power-hungry Bartholomew Crouch as the Minister of Magic...

"Severus Snape never liked the Ministry, mainly disagreeing with that institution's policy about Muggle-born wizards, and found the confusion it was in now very detestable. This in itself seemed to be good proof of the misdirection of Ministry policies. Old pureblood families had always warned of the inability to act that by necessity must ensue from burdening wizardkind with Muggle-borns.

"Hence, Severus Snape never seriously considered turning to the Ministry, delivering himself into the hands of ineptitude, and abusive, Mudblood-loving weaklings, nor would he give up the corpse of his beloved to them for further disfigurement.

"Obviously he himself would, and quite correctly, be considered a Death Eater by many, and could not deny having worked for Voldemort until very recently – so who in the Ministry would believe Severus's story, even if they couldn't imagine that he'd killed his beloved? He would be considered guilty without being granted any benefit of doubt.

"The decision was not really very difficult at that point.

"First, Severus Snape would give Idane the burial she deserved. Later that night, after he'd decided on a further course of action, he would take her destroyed body away and hide her where only he could find her, lain out to rest in a place that belonged to his family of old.

"Severus told me that he knew this impulse to be absurd, but he followed it nevertheless – and he said that he would never forget nor forgive himself that he had not been able to offer her that protection while she was still alive.

"In his late-night review of their life together, next to her disfigured and maimed corpse, Severus realised that she had been right: it could not have lasted. He saw how very obviously he had extricated himself from his duties to his master, superficially serving Voldemort with information that had mostly come to him by her, who'd known exactly who he would hand it on to.

"He had changed... Hardly any time within that last year – not even a whole year this tale of love had lasted! – had Severus Snape reported personally, or shown up at his 'friend's' places to meet them. Snape had only obeyed the summoning by the Mark if he must – which was infrequent, and the proceedings then had been of no import to him.

"Each- and everyone of his fellow Death Eaters had, at one point or other, enjoyed one of Idane's events. Each- and everyone of them had at some time received valuable intelligence from Severus Snape, or picked up the odd potion to hand on to their master, to reap the benefits. In turn, instead of thanks, they all had jeered at him, and tried to bait him, conjecturing up a love affair with a Muggle-cum-Giant that they knew nothing about – regardless of the fact that Severus's actions served their master and their cause well, or if they really believed that love-affair to happen. They were envious, for the most part, of his standing with their master that Severus had gained by the intelligence that he was able to provide.

"Twice, there had almost been duels, but Snape had never said anything about her, or his feelings for her. He had merely insisted on and coldly emphasised the usefulness of his actions for his master; a fact they could not deny. Severus Snape told them to shut up and do something useful for their lord's aims themselves.

"Severus says that they are much like Ministry folk in that respect, deplorably.

"His spywork had indeed bought him time, but he could see now that it had not really been clever, and how thin the ice had been that they both had been walking safely by their love.

"And love that had been, and was, and would eternally be, he knew for sure – now, by the loss of it. That night Severus also knew that nothing like it would ever come his way again –nothing could ever hurt him as much. Her light alone had borne both of them, and not allowed for any conceivable danger – or feeling of danger, rather. Now the ice had cracked and that light had gone under and been extinguished. He was out there alone, and the darkness of his own soul descended on him like velvet, heavy, suffocating. The world now was as dark as his heart – it was like a sound, like a string tearing apart, when that broke, he told me once.

"The very ice they had walked upon now began to enclose his innermost self in eternal winter, just not pushing him under – a fetter, a chain, while he slowly grew colder. He would have fought the freeze of his soul had he been able to, but he did not care enough anymore. Probably he'd have cried, too, but like the tears, the sounds of pain avoided him. By the memory of her words, Idane's plea for revenge, this was justified – she herself had implored him not to mourn but to act.

"All that was left in him was the one desire for cold revenge. As Idane had said, so would it be – she knew him so that she knew what he wanted and the way he wanted it.

"There were her last words of warning, too.

"Severus Snape realised then how completely the world that he had been so happy to live in for the year gone by had been scattered, and how even its fractured remains did exclude that other one, of the Death Eaters, of terror, prey, and torture, and of Voldemort's lust for power and immortality. This exclusion was so absolute that these worlds only now, in the undoing of their balance by violent death, did touch: in collision and destruction. And that collision would have been inevitable in the end, a mere matter of time.

"The most precious thing to Severus Snape in all the worlds had been that which was now torn away and destroyed by vicious cruelty – by the meanness of those who he had always considered to be his confederates, and equals, and occasionally even friends. That very cruelty and meanness, though, was something he had had his share in once, not that long ago – before meeting Idane.

"The short year with her was clearly a treasure that, after all, should never have been his. Their time was entirely undeserved, a gift by life. Looking back at it the same night it was taken from him, it already seemed impossible to ever have existed.

"Yet Idane's glow remained within Severus, and his memory of her did not blur like the faint scent of a sweet dream, as is known to happen in such cases, nor did it become an issue of foggy mental pictures, like something that is hardly over when one already is hard-put to recall it or believe in its reality. To Severus, their time together stood out brilliantly and indelibly. It now was impossible to believe that he should ever have been a Death Eater – or ever be a Death Eater, again! – very much in spite of his own beliefs.

"Everything that Severus Snape had shared and done once, together with others, in the service of Voldemort was, in the light of the love he had found, merely an ugly but unreal stain of memory, like that of a beastly nightmare where one has killed, and _this memory _it was that blurred, his death Eater past – and not that of her. It left him with a feeling of guilt, the wish to make good, and a bad taste in his mouth. Yet he somehow felt cleansed. Her dying touch had purified him, at the highest of prices. Severus Snape knew for sure he would not join Voldemort's ranks again just to resume what he had done until about a year ago.

"He made up his mind to meet me as she had asked of him, and did so as soon as possible.

"That night, it occurred to Severus how very much colder he had become: by contrast to her solar radiance, by her who had not carried a tinsel of calculation or cold in her – just like the sun doesn't, burning herself up, giving without reserve, hesitation or self-pity. As if by opposition to Snape's dark icy mind, her warmth had made him colder still than he had ever been.

"He had to think of steel being forged – his days with the Death Eaters providing fire and ice in constant change, but the metal not yet alive – and her death only brought to him the final tempering, a finish by life blood as is sometimes used to create a really powerful blade. How much Severus would have wanted to renunciate that process! There was only ice after, of his own making, to chill the soul, and ingrain the properties obtained by the process. Such blades are said to have a soul of their own – probably more of it than he felt he had left now...

"He offered that blade to me for my cause. There was no remorse in him left nor guilt, not even sadness at his loss, just the cantankerous temper you and all students know only too well, and the will to act.

"Lately, Severus occasionally complains that he does not feel like anything useful or sharp anymore, but rather like a piece of poor welding steel that has been forgotten between a bewitched hammer and anvil to receive blows delivered by the minute... He's growing weary, your Potions Professor, and we cannot have that. His full powers are needed, and I will not have him worn out by a routine that you yourself and your perceptive friends have, along with House points, long declared to be of little consequence in the present situation, if I'm not mistaken."

Albus Dumbledore gave a sharp look in Harry's direction, but his tone made his meaning clear enough: You and your friends will stop bothering the man if I have any say in it.

"Thus, to Severus Snape, there could again only be service – not anymore to the Dark Lord, as Voldemort would surely have expected, but to make good, to the ways he had eventually come to see as right – the thing he'd come to be himself, and to her memory.

"That basically means that he is serving the Order, our cause – he stands against Voldemort, in any case, that is what it comes down to.

"If it was in me to betray – not merely to bitterly disappoint, Harry! – I'd be very wary of him. Severus Snape is never in shortage of cunning, but very much of temper. His loyalty is to me and to me alone, but first and foremost, to his revenge. If Severus Snape ever sees a chance to obtain it, he will not stop to think who else he is bringing down with him. That is what drove him in the Howling Hut, too, I think. Severus knows precisely what he wants and how to obtain it, and will stop at nothing to get it: he has nothing left to lose. Luckily, the scope of Professor Snape's vision is of a kind that very much includes the thwarting of Voldemort's aims. Severus knows as well as I do that a simple direct attack to take the Dark Lord down won't suffice. The Order's perspectives are inclusive to his goal, so to speak...

"That night in his London apartment, Idane dead in his arms, Severus assessed his situation, viewing it from the outside, and considered it to be not too bad where the Death Eaters and the question of his loyalty to Voldemort were concerned. There would surely be painful punishment for his neglect of boot-licking duty, and he'd have to find a way to squirm back into favour and confidence with the Dark Lord, but he considered the damage done minor.

"Severus Snape told me he thought it grievous that he could far easier get back into the Dark Lord's folds and Voldemort's trust and be fully accepted than into wizard society, or to find justice there quite regardless of crimes committed that he had no intention of justifying, even if he fully turned and could be of use.

"I think I mentioned that Snape could, at that fateful stage of his life, be sure of one thing alone: that his fellow Death Eaters would never seriously believe that he had found love, and that Voldemort did not conceive of that, either. So, while the child surely had been his, and its existence might be considered blood treason in itself, any knowledge and intention of which he would have to disown, there was no proof of any purposeful treachery to his master in his actions – and could not be, of course. Furthermore, he had rendered his lord important services as a Potions master all the while, and never lacked in that area.

"That, he would have to stick to - he would build his future plans on it, no matter how weak the foundation. So far, it has held true. You can always expect a Soniverirus to play his own game masterfully. If he should fail, it will not be for lack of daring, and to the danger of us all.

This is what he came to me with."

Dumbledore was not finished, but he paused to give Harry time to think and to ask.

A bit of distraction would do both of them good considering the heavy thoughts involved in the telling, and indeed Harry's first question concerned a marginal matter.

"Professor – was there no excitement among the Muggles when Idane vanished? You said she was quite famous, and surely was not someone to be easily forgotten... He had to become a suspect eventually, hadn't he?"

"Time worked in his favour there, for once. Neighbours said that loud, but muffled and indiscernible noises had issued form the flat all evening, like someone packing up and watching TV rather loudly in the meantime, and like the scraping of furniture on the floors. This had been unusual, but not overly disturbing. It had also been at a time that Severus Snape's absence from the place could be proved. Later on, the witnesses stated, several unknown persons had left the place, and after that, there had been no more sounds all night, besides, very late, those of Snape's return, who'd even been identified by a neighbour returning at the same time. They had not seen any of them.

"Of course, the Death Eaters had charmed the place. The acoustical phenomena described are typical for a rather sloppy casting of silencing and confusion charms, surely due to the contempt the killers felt for Muggles. Screams of torture and fighting noises never made it beyond the apartment doors as such. They would sound dampened and indefinable outside, and indeed those charms had sufficed to let people think of Muggle TV sounds and furniture being moved.

"In addition, no Muggle can ever give a useful description of a wizard if that wizard does not want to be described. The attackers didn't even need to erase memories. Neither did we, later on.

"Those glowballs must have been something of more specific magic, since it seems that no-one noticed anything like what Severus described.

"Severus really did make the most of what little he had left, and we all have to be grateful that he did not withdraw into desperation.

"He took Idane away with him the next day, and eventually cleaned the place up without leaving a trace. The Muggle police never found anything but an empty flat when, after a couple of months, neighbours started to wonder about the whereabouts of the couple that used to live there, and alerted the authorities. I believe someone had a nephew who was very eager to move into that particular building, and they had not been able to secure information about the present owners.

"There were no traces of anything suspicious in the flat, nothing that pointed to a crime or the persons who had lived there – which is no surprise when wizards clean up.

"The one thing the murderers had not taken care of was the mind of their victim, and it's still anyone's guess whether that was deliberate or not.

"Everyone can move out of their place whenever they like, and such a control would also have been mere routine. The parties interested in buying had to find out in the course of inquiries, to their disappointment, that the apartment in question belonged to some wealthy family who wanted to have it at their hands if need be.

"Naturally, the Order kept an eye on the place, it being a gateway."

"But how do you know all those details, sir?"

"We, the Order, questioned the Muggles. We had to know, of course. What Severus told me could have been a set-up by Voldemort, after all, to sneak back into my confidence. Right after Severus Snape had come to me, I send two Order members over, disguised as Muggle policepersons, claiming to have been alerted to strange noises in one flat the previous night, by neighbours. Very trustworthy, serviceable, clueless police they were. They appeared to not even know who they inquired about, and were treated to vivid descriptions more than one of Idane's shows. We also needed to know the sequence and timing of events to protect Severus. This inquiry helped greatly to substantiate his story."

After a moment, Harry asked: "And the rest of that story?"

"Severus felt he had to go back for a couple of days to clean up, and be by himself. I was afraid for his life then and did not like the idea, but I granted him the respite.

When asked, told his neighbours that his girlfriend had moved out on him quite surprisingly, without leaving a message or an address. I believe not many of his neighbours agreed to the surprise part of that as he'd never been personable, and only barely polite with them. None of them had trouble to believe that that wonderful woman had left him, and some did confess to be unable to understand what had bound her to that dark surly man in the first place."

Harry grinned. "How did you find that out? Or are you making that up to entertain me?"

"The order, again." Dumbledore grew serious. "I would never, my boy, make fun of Severus Snape, or dare to crack any jokes at his expense!"

The severe twinkle in the headmaster's eyes made Harry grin wider still.

"Well, it was by hidden dictation quills, the kind forbidden here at school, activated by voice that the policemen left wherever they went..."

"Wow...!"

"Yes, Harry, there are hardly any things wizards would really need Muggle technology for to get them done. Even Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggle technology basically originates in his amazement at how Muggles manage to get along at all, I believe."

"What did S- Professor Snape do with Idane – with the corpse?"

"I think he took her to the family manor. He did not tell me, and I did not ask. Much like your godfather was, he's one of the last of his name, and line, and has more than one place at hand, or had then, rather.

"There is a central family vault where he will likely have taken her, and very likely only he himself will have access to that place today. I do not believe that he has visited there ever again, since.

"However... Idane... the corpse... had to vanish if he had no wish to draw the Ministry's attention, and the reasoning behind that, to be given to the Dark Lord, had to really sound. It was, as you will hear later, but it did not spare him Voldemort's punishment."

"Sir, you said you sent Order members to check up on his place – where he and Idane had lived. So, when did he come to meet you, headmaster? And what did he say so you would trust him?"

"I told you that Severus Snape had taught at Hogwarts before, and failed. He'd passed his N.E.W.T.s with outstanding marks, and left school more quietly than he'd ever bothered to live in it. Immediately after his exam, he went into apprenticeship with Europe's most famous wizarding apothecary in Austria. This had been arranged by his parents a good two years in advance, before most students even take careers advice. The Master there took him on with a bow, and Severus finished his studies in the record time of two years, being accepted into the International Potions Master's Guild for higher studies with outstanding marks and assessments again.

"After that, he'd applied with me for the post of Potions Professor, on the very believable grounds that, from the very beginning, he'd wanted to make good what the rather old and boorish teacher he had had to suffer from himself had lacked or even destroyed, concerning the beauty of the subject. During his year here, he also worked for his certificate A Potions Master of his youth had been unheard of in many years in Europe."

Harry snorted.

"Don't, my boy; there are different owls for different messages – or, if you prefer, different beans for different tastes. Want some?"

The headmaster held out a big box of Bertie Bott's treats that had appeared out of nowhere, and Harry selected some to make the colours of a rainbow.

"Happy if you know yours!"

He grinned, took a darkish blue one and bit down, then wrinkled his nose: mustard. At least it was rather mild, and the surprise of the taste brought him back again to the present. He saw Dumbledore smile at him.

"I really marvel at your concentration, Harry. Tell me if you've had enough."

Harry, who'd taken a cracker that he could be sure was salty from the cookie tray to go along with the mustard taste, only shook his head, chewing.

"I admit I was amazed that someone of his accomplishment would bother, but he seemed very much decided. Who was I to question a decision that was very much to my liking and advantage?

"Well, then. I think I said that it went wrong right from the start... Severus put a lot of effort into his lessons, but it was not to be. I never managed to get accounts of what happened out of him, but by what others said, he was harassed really badly. So after that year's last term had ended, he left again. Too many rumours abounded about his delving into the Dark Arts, which I was sure of too. I did not like to lose him, but had a hard time to persuade him to stay at least that long to finish what he himself had started.

"The punishment for his failure must have been painful... another memory he would not submit.

"Severus Snape, not a Professor then of course, came to me right in the morning of the day after that monstrosity had been committed, as soon as he had made up his mind. There was no problem for him in that, as I did not suspect him to be a Death Eater. The school was not as heavily warded as it is nowadays. I did not really have time to spare that day, but there was that contact via his lover's Art, and whoever announced him said Snape was looking badly shaken. So I had him called in and could see for myself he was just that, gravely upset by something, but Severus Snape did not tell me right away what had happened.

"Some instruments went off silently when Severus entered my office, but that pointed to nothing serious. I remembered that he'd always been able to set off the more sensitive Sneakoscopes etc. involuntarily, even as boy.

"However, that day Severus did not say what had happened at first, but merely asked if he could teach Potions at Hogwarts again. I wanted to know why he would want to teach again after his painful experiences the first time he tried to, and what had made him change his mind.

"At that point, Snape cracked. In a very calm voice, Severus told me what had happened, and that he needed sanctuary. That was his very own choice of word. He had a hard time finding words at all. It was a weird scene to watch someone speak composedly of the most dreadful events, yet at the same time fight for words as if in a fit of crying, or a nervous breakdown, and hear such things spoken in that dry, dark and emotionless voice.

"Snape then asked me outright if I would support him if he were to leave Voldemort's service, or to spy on him, and let him try and teach again, so he'd be in a protected position.

"When he came out to me with what had happened the previous night, not breaking down but, somehow, seeming to grow stronger and harder as he spoke, I was thunderstruck. It shook me badly to hear that he'd been in the Dark Lord's service since his seventh year at school. He need not have told me, either. Attacks on Muggles and mixed relations were happening on a daily basis then – and I was not the only one who had considered Idane to be high on the Death Eater's blacklist.

"I am not sure I kept my composure entirely. I had known and loved the woman, after all...

"I took some tea, but he refused everything, sitting bolt upright to get over what needed to be told, in order to come into action. You know his stance. That day, I despised it greatly, even knowing that it likely was all he had to keep himself from falling apart.

"The first thing I did was to verify: I asked him to leave for a moment, flooed Order headquarters and asked them to check up on the Muggles and the house, and make sure what had been heard or seen by them like I told you.

"Severus agreed that I had to make sure. We checked the floo of the place, which was by now clean, and flooed there... Severus did not break down then either. I bid the most gorgeous woman I have ever known my reverent goodbye, and was grateful later on to have had that chance. I'd rather not have been there though –not to have to remember...We did not stay long.

"Back in my office, he asked me again if I would take him on, and protect him if his cover ever blew.

"I agreed it would be helpful to know who Voldemort's agent was in the school, and to have an eye on the Dark Lord, but could he assure me that there would be no danger to the students in his teaching here?

"Severus Snape said that he'd made his plans so that his reputation would not be tainted, and promised not to blow that or his cover with the Death Eaters by any rash acts, no matter how stupid the dear little ones... As for actions on Voldemort's side, he justly stated that he could not guarantee me there. But as my spy he would of course warn me of all proceedings that came to his knowledge, not only those concerning Hogwarts. Furthermore, he offered me in his own interest he said, his assistance in improving the school wards. In that, his help has been invaluable. It was amazing to see how much knowledge he had accumulated in that field during his school time. He had a view of what Voldemort knew... Voldemort never found out yet who made his knowledge of our wards worthless.

"Severus kept to common sense in those statements, and did not try to sneak into my confidence, which greatly relieved me. I'd been rather decided to take him on no matter what from the moment he asked, for his lover's sake as well as his being highly accomplished in his subject academically, and a renowned Potions Master by the time. Hence, he was definitely a first choice by far for the position here. As I said, not many of such standing would bother to teach.

"I'd been stuck after his leaving to another of these mediocre bores who take up the subject because they know how to operate a cauldron and a flame, but lack the precision and insight to get anything beyond the basest healing potions right. Most of the fifth-years in Snape's classes today can do better than they. Those were times when we had to order most supplies for the infirmary from Diagon Alley!"

The Headmaster sounded uncannily like the Potions Master when he said that…Harry was not sure if he cared to follow the sentiments expressed, but nodded, politely if doubtful.

"You can't compare, Harry – you can't possibly know what you've got in the Professor. You may not be aware either, as will be hardly any of your fellow students, even those from Slytherin House, that he is unsurpassed in his Art in Britain, if not Europe, by now – and the promise of that already showed while he still was in school.

"Severus agreed to be tested, stating that he much preferred to answer me under Veritaserum than any Auror or Ministerial moron. He also said he'd have to think over the details to make the deal worth my while and as useful as possible, and we left it at that. It was rather a short visit, all in all. He could have obtained nothing else from me at that point. I suggested that he could start teaching right away if he was able to prove me that he was serious, and to demonstrate an improvement in his teaching abilities. He sneered at the latter, as you can imagine, but all the weak points there, his self-consciousness that made him such easy prey the first time around, had vanished in his years of travel and the time he'd had with Idane. Severus obviously was still not what I would call a great teacher, but he could handle the students well enough.

"So I carefully agreed, assuming more doubts than I felt, reserving my agreement for three days to inquire, which suited him fine as that was what he needed to bury Idane, to clean the place, and to settle his affairs.

"At the time, I would've appreciated to just have someone of Voldemort's outer circle around who did not know I knew, to be able to find out about their activities, and to feed Tom Riddle whatever I saw fit, but this was far better! So far, none of the lot had managed to get anywhere near Hogwarts, with the one exception of a member of a team doing repairs in the woodworks of the towers, but he mysteriously fell sick on his second day, and had to return home.

"The closest thing to spies for Voldemort, in the time before his demise just like today, are the students whose relatives or friends are involved with the Dark Lord, and who are convinced or pressed to take to Voldemort...

"Severus Snape knew that his only chance was to persuade Voldemort to let him try and go to Hogwarts as a teacher and a spy again, and make him think that that had been his own idea – but this turned out to be easy, as you will see. I will tell you about how he did it another day.

"Had it not worked out, I'd still have a refugee of technical brilliance as a teacher. He trusted me, on his side – not that he had much of a choice.

"It was more difficult for him to get me to believe that he meant what he said and that he, being a spy on me for Riddle, would be a still better spy on Riddle for me. A major claim to his case was that he need not have told me of either Idane's murder or his allegiance to the Dark Lord.

"Severus started teaching soon after, but I had him isolated magically for some time, even after the examination by Veritaserum. He took that none too well, but he did manage, and in the end I started to trust him. The magical isolation had to be lifted soon enough because its long-term effects tend to resemble that of a deep depression, Muggle-kind, or of a very, very slow, low-key Dementor attack."

Harry shuddered. His Professor had surely not been spared... And Snape did not bother to spare anyone himself.

"So, Severus Snape started teaching and spying at Hogwarts, and I must say that he was, and is, most efficient in every aspect of the deal, educational differences aside.

"He convinced the Dark Lord of the sense of teaching here, and soon enough was back to the inner circle of his master, having pointed out the flaws in some strategies Malfoy and others had devised. Snape then started to take Death Eaters down himself by blacking their reputation with Voldemort. This was no nice business. It seems that his perfidious and telling affair with a Muggle-cum-Giant did not damage his own – er, good, name very much – probably because of the way he had dealt with the summoning after it, which you will hear about another time.

"The information about me – from me – That Severus Snape was able to provide brought him back into Riddle's favour in no time. Also, he soon was feared among the Death Eaters, or so he claimed, due to his merciless removal of opposition of any kind. This ruthlessness promoted him a great deal in their ranks in those days.

"That was when he became the target of your Godfather's wrath quite in another way than a mere schoolboy's grudge. Sirius believed Snape to be responsible for his brother's death. Regulus Black, you may have heard the name?"

"Yes... Sirius. Sirius told me that Regulus was killed by Voldemort himself. But he didn't seem to miss him or have liked him all that much..."

Harry swallowed hard at the recollection of standing side by side with his godfather, in front of the huge tapestry displaying the Black family tree in the huge dingy room at Grimmauld Place.

"Well, but such things are matters of family honour, with the old families at least, but many of the younger ones too. Sirius Black would have avenged his mother as well had she been the victim of a dishonourable attack, and he sure hated her.

"I don't think he blamed Professor Snape to be responsible for his brother's becoming a Death Eater as that was very much Lucius Malfoy's work, who was great at convincing ambitious, naive school boys, seducing them, much like the girls, into the folds of his master. He was a couple of years older than Severus, Sirius and your father, and not at Hogwarts anymore when Regulus died. Lucius Malfoy was, by the way, not the one who drove Severus Snape into Voldemort's folds, otherwise I'd have known about it. I had a tag on him. Severus Snape was given to the Dark Lord by his own parents, Harry. That is what Voldemort demands of his followers, and Draco Malfoy and some other Slytherins are soon to follow suit…"

"Well, who cares if..."

At this point, the Headmaster interrupted Harry. His tone was disappointed and even a bit angry.

"Harry, try to imagine your own relatives giving you away to a monster that you despise!"

"But they don't! Draco Malfoy surely is looking forward to his... joining of You-Know-Who's fold!"

"Don't be so sure of that! Don't you think it would make all the difference if for instance Draco Malfoy compromised Lucius Malfoy by not joining his father's master, and were one clever fighter less for Voldemort?"

Harry had blushed.

"Yes, sir, of course, but – I am sorry, but the idea has never crossed my mind that there'd be even a faint chance that Draco would not... just remember the Inquisitorial Squad he headed for Umbridge! Hermione mentioned that you and Sn – the Professor are still fighting to keep all of the Death Eater kids away from Voldemort, but I can't believe at all that there's any chance of success..."

Dumbledore pondered the boy before him.

"Well, maybe not, but we must try, mustn't we? But let me continue.

"Snape's calculation was that any one Death Eater down meant an enemy less to our cause, and a weakening of Voldemort's ranks, and he was right there of course. He was absolutely merciless in this and would brook no argument. It also went well till the last moment: Voldemort swallowed the bait of 'selection among the select' whole.

"The Dark Lord never had a chance to find him out. You got Voldemort first if the price was high, and Severus was nowhere near the end of his resources as a spy then."

The Headmaster fell silent and steepled his fingers, regarding Harry seriously, but avoiding his eyes as usually.

Harry stared back at him. Finally, someone was telling him what he just had to know! He was completely taken in by this first-hand account, and asked:

"Did Snape know of the attack on my parents? And how did –er, Professor Snape keep out of Azkaban, and why did Lucius Malfoy never get arrested? What made it safe to send him back to spy after... after Voldemort's return?"

"Spying on Voldemort is not at all safe nowadays, Harry... Plainly, Severus Snape is the only one who can do it; we have no choice there, literally. And the Dark Lord seems to suspect something this time..."

"But to answer your question: no, Severus Snape did not know in advance of the attack on the – on your parents, or on the Longbottoms, or on several others, and repeatedly offered to prove that under Veritaserum. I am positively sure of it and trust him there as well, Harry – and you should, too!"

Mutely, Harry nodded.

"It seems the Dark Lord had, wisely, decided to not inform this trusted follower about any attacks that were related to Hogwarts, or to the Order. He probably preferred the information he could get by him to a clear knowledge about the informant's intention. Voldemort's thoughts are not easily followed. It's enough to know that he was wary even then. He might be paranoid now.

"Then came a time that brought many setbacks to our fight against Voldemort. Order members, their relatives, and persons connected to them seemed to be taken out strategically, like the Longbottoms were. Most of them died...

"I found both irritating. Snape was not an Order member at the time, nor did he know anything about it but the common rumours. Voldemort had his information unfiltered, and from elsewhere for sure. Voldemort had an outline of who was in the Order at the very least, yet no-one was able to make a connection at that point.

"After the murder of your parents, the Dark Lord's demise, and your godfather's presumed attack on the Muggles that supposedly took his old chum Peter out, everyone believed that Voldemort got the information by Black. And by treachery he did get it, and more, as we know now – through Peter Pettigrew. Sirius was in prison, frantically proclaiming innocence but unwilling or unable to speak, and Pettigrew was presumed dead. The Order members aided the Ministry in flushing out the remaining Death Eaters, widely with Severus's help, but there still were well-aimed threats and occasional minor attacks.

"I had Severus questioned again under Veritaserum for my own peace of mind, and did also check back with the Pensieve, but there was nothing that would point to any knowledge or betrayal on his side. This remained a puzzle until Sirius Black showed up in your third year here and identified Pettigrew.

"So, when Voldemort had vanished, Professor Snape assisted in naming Death Eaters in the background. Somehow the Ministry got wind of his being a Death Eater as well, and had him pulled in. I managed to vouchsafe for him by disclaiming any knowledge of that, calling the attention to his assistance in arresting Karkaroff and others, and by providing proof of his absence from any of the murders.

"While that trial was held in secret, word of course got out. Severus soon was threatened for being a traitor by the few remaining loyal Death Eaters, and by others as well, for being one. There were rumours of Snape's presence at Death Eater meetings by the time, extracted from captured Death Eaters by Aurors. But soon, several of Voldemort's minor minions who were turned in after Professor Snape's testimony managed to escape. The Ministry tried to get their hands on Severus Snape again, and succeeded. This time, all I could do was to have him issued into my custody as Head of the Wizengamot, under the claim that I needed his Potions talents (which was, and is, true enough) that being the only way to keep him out of Azkaban. The Ministry put their hand on the Snape estates and property.

"The Death Eaters were scattered and dispelled. They lay low after Voldemort's demise, beheaded by the loss of their master. Severus told me that he'd managed to convince Lucius Malfoy that he, in a position close to me, would be of more value to their lord than in prison, and that he was no traitor to the then-lost cause. Malfoy, by the way, never really distrusted his house-mate. They both were sure that Voldemort was not dead, but neither seemed to have an idea how to find him.

"Snape told Malfoy a dramatic story about how, some time after your parent's deaths, in this office I had advanced on him, pulled up his sleeve exposing the remainder of the Dark Mark and, upon that discovery, forced him to name names under the threat of being sent to Azkaban otherwise, but promising to keep him out of prison if he did. This was just what Malfoy expected and would have done, and he surely had no problems with the sacrifice of lesser minions of his lord if a semblance of power remained in his hands. Malfoy had supported Snape's ideas about selecting the select from the start.

"Around this time, Lucius began to prepare for Voldemort's return. Almost everybody else believed Voldemort to be gone for good. See, Harry, it was mostly Ministry officials, and not those in frontline positions, who presumed that Voldemort was dead – and the press, of course. Your average wizard desperately wanted to believe it, too. Peace was something not had in a long time in the wizarding world and greeted merrily, as you know.

"The Order had never been stringent in pursuing Lucius. We had decided not to turn against Malfoy mainly for two reasons: the first consideration had been that Lucius Malfoy was a very influential and very public, if not popular, personality which made his steps fairly easy to track. We hoped to have some indications about Death Eater action by keeping our tabs on him. The new reason now was that Severus Snape's cover would have to be blown to get the man convicted, Severus being he only one able to give proof. Since this by no means would be the end of slippery Lucius, we declined this course of action. Lucius Malfoy never realised until the end your second year, when you as good as proved his smuggling that diary in among Miss Weasley's possessions, that he was in any danger at all, I think.

"Professor Snape managed easy enough to keep an eye on the other leftover Death Eaters, and I don't think anyone ever truly suspected him of treason until very recently. On what grounds the dark Lord does at all, we do not know.

"By what you said, Harry, Voldemort must have felt bitterly betrayed that Severus Snape, like the others, never tried to find him, at least during his summer holidays. I believe that parts of the recipe that involved your blood, Peter's hand, and his father's bones, were supplied by the Snape library via Lucius... Malfoy has full access to Snape's family estates, which is a good reason for you Professor not to alienate him."

The boy shuddered.

"Why would he..."

Albus Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Do you understand what we are up against here, Harry? Plainly, at the bottom line, I just have to trust Severus! I reckon we'd be long dead by now if I couldn't."

Pondering that for a moment, Harry nodded.

"You said Professor Snape knew the magic that revived Voldemort." Harry swallowed. The memories of that day were still hard to bear, but he could feel that he was gaining distance. They were not suffocating him anymore. "Could he not have done something else, like burning that ...bundle in acid, instead of having my blood revive him? And why was he not at that meeting? I thought it was him Voldemort referred to as the one who had left him forever..."

"Maybe not... But, Harry, I never said that your Professor knew that particular magic. I said it _probably _was supplied by Lucius from the extensive Soniverirus library on the Dark Arts. You see, Harry, Voldemort was rather good at Potions himself and would have noticed aberrations in recipe and ingredients of a magnitude like that necessary to do damage. Neither was Severus there to prepare it. Harry, do you think that this recipe, while surely terrifying, was complete, being so simple – and did it not strike you as a bit too showy...? Don't you think that the connection Voldemort made with you, and a part-time rat, will have their effects on him? Unless you missed major parts that were concocted before your arrival... However, we shall see...

"I admit it was a mistake not to have an eye on that cemetery permanently, but an early check had returned a disturbance of the Riddle grave, so there was no necessity for them to hold the rite just there. Pettigrew could have taken parts of the corpse of his master's father with him... Do remember that Tom Riddle sr. was a Muggle, too. I don't think there's anything I can say or do now to help you coping, except trying to instil in you some new trust in me...

"I am really, really sorry, Harry, about events, for all that that's worth now."

Dumbledore stopped, seemingly finished.

Harry nodded again, worn out by the memories and the stories. Yet somehow, now that things found their place, he felt a bit more secure – not like he would cry about the events after the Tournament again soon. But of course he really was tired now.

"Do you need any more Dreamless Sleep, my dear boy?"

"No, thank you, sir. I've still got some left, and I think I'll go and see Sn... Professor Snape first thing tomorrow to ask his permission to brew some for myself, if you gather my meaning. It would be an excellent reason for me to be in the dungeons."

"That is very good thinking, Harry. One of those days, if time allows, I shall tell you what Severus Snape let me know of his encounter with Voldemort, after Idane's death. Can you imagine that Lucius Malfoy, for once, did a good deed, if unknowingly so?"

Harry smiled at the old wizard, fully realising that he attempted to take some weight out of reality by making it look like a fairy tale, with a definite happy ending.

Dumbledore smiled back.

"I bid you a quiet night, then."

"Good night to you too, sir!"


	18. Snake Attack

**18. Snake Attack**

Several days later, during their Double Potions lesson, something happened that took Harry's mind off asking Snape once more to recommence their Occlumency lessons momentarily, and gave a kind of proof to Hermione's and his own reckoning.

Slytherin uses what Slytherin teaches.

Harry had been paired with Neville repeatedly. They had used a worktable at the back of the classroom, and things had been going really well for them lately. Snape generally left them alone, ignoring Harry as far as possible.

In the turn of two weeks or so, something had become obvious that confused Harry more than a little bit, even if it was a definite change for the better: he encountered far fewer problems in Potions than he used to. This came on gradually over the period of several lessons, so Harry hadn't notice at first. By now though, the difference was tangible. While their potions never were anywhere near as perfect as Hermione's for instance, they were alright, and worked as they should. And no-one was trying anymore to throw things into them or destroy them in other ways.

No more forgetfulness or wrong sequences in the mixing of substances, and all that...

This confused him. Harry was sure that he had not changed his manner of learning and working. He was also positive that Snape had never gone so far as to personally hex his cauldron, or ingredients, just as he'd never bothered to support him. Harry was convinced that would have noticed either. Yet this felt as if a spell had been lifted. He could not think what it was.

On thinking the circumstances over, Harry realised that Snape probably had just not bothered before to stop Malfoy and other Slytherins from doing such things. The Potions-Defence against the Dark Arts thought was developing.

The events of this lesson made him wonder what the changes in Potions really meant, and if they had happened at all, or if he'd imagined them. He probably was getting a grasp of the subject finally, after five years… No. It was more likely by far that he WAS going potty after all. What he had had to take had been too much for a boy, Dumbledore had said so himself…

Today the students were working by themselves, but most shared a table anyway.

Harry was cutting away at some dragonroot when Snape attacked him mentally!

He jumped when it happened, dropping a small vial with liquefied bedrock which luckily did not break, and accidentally came in contact with his cauldron, which was scalding hot – not merely simmering as it should be.

Everything around him became a jumble of colours, as if seen from a carousel. It took all of Harry's willpower to keep his equilibrium.

Whatever that had been, stopped as suddenly as it had started.

While Harry was blowing on his scorched hand, looking around desperately for something to cool the burn without attracting Snape's attention by dashing to the sink and turning the water on, Malfoy's crowd jeered.

"Burnt your little fingers again, Potty? Hope it hurts nicely!"

This lot was getting dangerously spiteful.

Snape, seated at his desk, seemed completely unperturbed, unaware of goings-on. Could it really have been him, just like that, without any eye contact?

There were rumours of Dumbledore having lectured most members of Slytherin house, and a few members of the other houses in private, after the fight in the Ministry of Magic, concerning the conditions of their remaining at Hogwarts in the future.

Ministerial raids had uprooted far more Death Eaters than those that had participated in the fight in the Department of Mysteries. That had been quite a blow to Voldemort, but many people were sure that not even the tip of the iceberg had been touched.

Every student with relations of that kind had been interviewed. Now that those student's parents were either known to be Death Eaters, or imprisoned, or dead, they would have to show and prove goodwill, or leave. Supposedly, they had been given a code of conduct of sorts, but no-one but them knew any details. It was also said that their communication to the world outside of Hogwarts was monitored. This happened on the grounds of letters from other parents wanting those children expelled, threatening to remove their own otherwise, whom Dumbledore had had to soothe.

Those measures apparently had worked so far, as nothing bad of the Slytherin kind had happened since events on the Hogwarts train. Harry could feel the hate of the Slytherins against him build almost physically. They blamed him for their relative's defeats and misfortune.

Harry composed himself.

Had not Dumbledore said that mental intrusion was not commonly a wizard's gift? But the Headmaster had also said something about distance and, notably, eye contact being an important factor. This, as Harry knew only too well, was not entirely true, at least between himself and Lord Voldemort... And Snape was a past master of any of these Arts! Harry could not now get away from the dungeon, but neither was he prepared for an attack of that kind...

While the Potions Professor was lecturing about some ingredient, pointing at the board where its properties appeared, it happened again. The attack was stronger still this time and came from a different direction, somewhat like a huge gust of wind that tumbled one off one's feet.

That could not possibly have been Snape! He was lecturing, and not even looking in the direction of Harry or any other Gryffindor!

This time, the attack did not cease almost instantly, either. Harry felt like being spun around over and over again and, with difficulty, managed to steady himself on a table corner. The picture of the quiet corridor he had used when approaching Snape appeared in his mind. He clung to it, steadied himself on its floor, and the whirl seemed to cease – or rather to become more distant. He was aware of more jeering noises from the Slytherin tables, and some very concerned looks from Ron and Hermione who were working at a table two rows before his, but they stayed away from him.

Everyone seemed to concentrate on Neville who was on the floor, wailing and twisting, while at the same time they tried to act inconspicuously to not arouse Snape's attention, for fear of getting detentions or losing points. Harry could see Hermione's lips moving frantically, casting spells in quick succession – to no effect at all, it seemed. Sparks were flashing from her wand every other instant, indicating that another spell had been attempted – and failed. Once more, Harry admired her speed and precision.

Later on, recapitulating the event, Harry realised that the scene would have looked hilarious to any outsider.

For the time being, he had other things to consider. What was this about? Had Neville been hit by accident, while the curses should have hit Harry himself? Or were Malfoy and his buddies going for the weakest aim, as usual? Harry lost his footing again, but pushed the whirl of colours, thoughts, and impressions away from his mind, and turned to face Snape. The Professor was ignoring the upheaval on the Gryffindor side of the room entirely, but seemed to watch the Slytherins intently.

Then suddenly, Harry saw what this was about. It all became clear in a flash of recognition. In that instant, Harry fully understood what Snape was doing. This wasn't merely not preventing things from happening, or giving occasional advice on how to terrorize their peers more effectively to members of his house, but the effect of his Dark Arts lessons to the Slytherins! Harry was positive that Malfoy and his Slytherin buddies were receiving certain special lessons from Severus Snape.

This was also totally in accordance with the ideas and fears he, Ron, and Hermione had in part shared with Dumbledore's Army, and with his reflections in Snape's office about a week ago. Harry saw clearly that couldn't blame Snape for any of it: the Potions Professor was merely setting an example in his merciless and inconsiderate manner. The injustice and cowardice of this Slytherin approach was nowhere near what would happen if it ever got through and succeeded!

Swaying under the impact of the flow of magical energy, he looked at the Slytherins, who were now visibly concentrating on Neville. Those that did participate in the … joke, were acting almost as one, efficient and highly organised.

This was bad.

Why on earth did Snape let them? Somehow, grasping the reasoning behind them was never enough to justify the events…

The only thing Harry could not possibly have divined was the extent and the organisation of the effort! When he had noticed those things first – he was not proud to think that it had taken him years, after all – he considered them to be along the lines of chance and occasion. A hint here, a spell there, and the quiet acceptance of magical attacks during lessons… But those efforts obviously were not makeshift or coincidental: this showed an efficiency only full-blown Dark Arts tutoring could provide.

Were he and his friends right in thinking that they were meant to notice, and to defend themselves on their own? He needed to know for sure. He would force Snape to tell him outright what he was up to. Now there was an aim!

Harry had planned on talking to Snape about Occlumency later that day anyway, but felt that to be out of the question right after the lesson. His anger surely would carry him there – and very likely destroy everything for him. He would have to wait!

What he and Ron found out from Hermione after today's events did make him go to see his Potions Professor right away though.

Snape was finished with whatever it was that he had lectured on, and returned to his desk as if nothing whatsoever was wrong in his class. For a moment, his attitude made Harry doubt his own impressions, but the fact that things around him started to whirl again instantaneously brought him back to himself. Harry stared after his teacher.

That pale man was cunning and hard! He had found a way to serve a whole set of purposes. By teaching the Slytherins Legilmency and short-distance Mental Intrusion, he could work for his house. He could proclaim his loyalty clearly to his master, a faithful follower of the Dark Lord doing more than his duty by providing his disciples-to-be with Dark knowledge… Such action should also scratch Snape's own itch, and have the Death Eaters-to-be build up trust in him. Furthermore, in this way, while appearing to proclaim which side he was on, he provided a vent for those children who had to cope with the actions or loss of their parents on way or the other...!

There might be more to this, still. He heard the Headmaster's voice again, saying: "He's never got only one aim at a time."

Harry had to admit that he was impressed, if he liked it or not.

But things had to be stopped here and now, before Harry lost his footing once more. He was bewildered where he really needed to think fast!

The noises in the classroom filtered back into his consciousness, and he realised that he had to act. Looking about, Harry found that he was not affected very much at all any more. The attack centered entirely on Neville.

His understanding must have come to him in a flash – it seemed that hardly a second had passed.

He had to react and fight back NOW. Snape would expect some action on the Gryffindor side, at the very least! It also would give him the chance to hand out detentions…

Maybe, there would be a way to handle this inconspicuously…

Harry turned his attention from Snape to Draco Malfoy, and there found spiteful eyes fixed on him.

Seeing Malfoy rejoice at the sight of Neville on the floor let Harry's wrath rise like a tidal wave. Harry felt that anger to be cold and well within his control: a tremendous force. He did not bother to touch his wand, but made a small cutting gesture with his hand and a big one with his mind – and the spook was gone.

Some of the Slytherins stumbled, yelping with surprise. Neville stopped twitching, sat up, and looked around, shaking and confused. Apparently, he had not much of a notion of what just happened to him. Luckily, Neville seemed not to be hurt either. That was probably due alone to Snape's orders to the attackers.

Draco Malfoy still stood and stared at Harry. His eyes were now glowing, vibrant with a hate of a kind that shook the Gryffindor. But Draco would not or could not resume the attack. Neither did the other Slytherins.

Professor Snape ignored the upheaval in the classroom entirely, having returned to his paperwork.

Neville got up, slightly confused and ruffled but otherwise unscathed, returned to the table and continued with his potion after an apologetic look at Harry, who smiled back. The plump boy clearly had no memory of what just had happened.

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked befuddled, handling some ingredients, the purpose and use of which he seemed to have forgotten. Hermione was watchful, shooting him an approving glance with a nod.

Harry grinned inwardly. Ron would probably think differently about Hermione's and his own mental states after this lesson…

Looking at Hermione more closely, he found that she was watching the Slytherins intently while continuing her preparations, without ever losing her track, or letting go of her concentration. While he was looking on, she visibly relaxed, and turned her attention to the potion they were preparing. He could almost hear her sigh: 'They've had it for today, I think.' She felt him watching her, looked up, smiled at him, and nudged Ron. The redhead looked up too, still slightly confused. When he met Harry's eyes, his eyebrows rose. He beamed at his friend and, giving him a thumb up, mouthed silently: "Great!"

Harry was still watching Hermione, expecting something from her. But what?

Then the realisation hit. Although it was in many ways far less important than the insights about Snape Harry'd just had, it struck him more since it was personal.

After all, they'd been discussing the probability of Snape's actions before. But Hermione had never mentioned this!

Hermione Granger, his friend of many years, had obviously protected herself most effectively from any interference of the kind they had just experienced, without him or (very likely) Ron ever noticing, and since quite a long time ago, too. The practiced ease with which she'd acted showed as much. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, wasn't even remotely aware of any threats like possible Slytherin hexes during lessons at all, regardless of them happening to him all the time, and not even now that they all had concentrated on him! Whoever had said that ignorance was blissful!

Well, Harry would let him know as soon as possible, trying to raise his awareness of such things, and help him build a shield against these nasty attempts...

But why on earth had Hermione never told them? Harry felt angry, and more than a little bit betrayed.

To be just, he had to admit that, obviously, one needed to become aware of this kind of action or intrusion on the side of fellow students or teachers in order to notice at all – and he himself hadn't been aware of it until right now. Now that he saw, he found it hard to believe that could ever have not noticed.

Apparently, Lord Voldemort's efforts had always been clouding things over for Harry...

And his belated realisation was entirely owed to his inattentiveness and failure to observe closely, once more: just what the greasy git always said, right?

Better late than never, though…

When had that started? Did Dumbledore really know and approve of it?

Snape was of course utterly reliable to work with even here, if trust could not be the word where his character was concerned, and acting entirely on Dumbledore's behalf.

Yet, in the meantime, Snape was educating and improving the powers of opponents that Harry and Hermione and Ron and all the others would have to face eventually – and likely within a setting much different from Hogwarts... Professor Snape was training foes that would know neither mercy nor fair play...

In any case, a meeting of Dumbledore's Army was more urgent than ever!

But discoveries were not over for Harry yet. In the general confusion and attempts at recollection among the students, Harry realised some aspects of things which connected neatly with the debates he and his friends had had lately about Snape's potions lessons.

For one, things fell into place: Professor Snape, whom he, Harry felt more strongly than ever before, and odd enough in a moment like this, could trust as fully as he did Dumbledore, had permitted today's events to take place in order to show them what they would be facing eventually. A dire warning to pick up Defence lessons again immediately!

Furthermore, like Harry had figured out, Snape did have no reason whatsoever to desire the post of Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, regardless of proclamations and rumours – on the grounds that he was teaching the Dark Arts anyway, as well as the defence against them, and most effectively and on a large scale too – simultaneous with Potions.

Also, he had apparently been doing so for years – very likely with the Headmaster's approval, and without most of the Gryffindors noticing. The rumours about him wanting that position, whether being spread to that purpose or not, merely appeared to provide distraction and cover for him from this point of view.

In this way, the Potions master could teach and favour the Slytherins all he wanted, and curry favour with their parents, and put himself in a brilliant light with his Dark master. If Harry, and all the fighters against Voldemort, ever wanted to learn what he had to teach, what he did indeed teach their prospective enemies, or the countermeasures, they'd have to beg Snape for it and then take whatever he offered.

Or they would have to struggle on much like they'd done so far, but both without any chance for them to get back at the Professor for whichever humiliations he might think up for them, because they had to protect him from discovery with all their might, at almost any price. They would have to point to anyplace but him as the source of their knowledge! Dumbledore's Army was an excellent starting place for that, being unofficial, Harry realised. But he also saw that Snape even now knew most of the Army Members quite well. Should he ever intend to revert to his loyalty to Lord Voldemort, he'd be able to offer precious detailed knowledge on each of them...

What a mind the man had! Cunning beyond cunning, and forcing everyone under his will...! Harry began to understand Dumbledore: he could never trust the git, yet he had no choice but to work with Snape, and only superficially under his own conditions.

There was no absolute safety as to Snape's loyalties! Harry, though, was by now inclined to trust him fully or, rather, willing to work with him under his orders and without reserve. This was partly because of a new-found appreciation for the scope of Snape's game, which he felt to be breathtaking. Harry was sure he could learn a lot from him there. Why should Snape bother unless he really wanted to teach the right thing? It was all out in the open for whoever cared to see! Had Snape been set to kill Harry, or Dumbledore, he could have done so years ago…

A tiny bit of insecurity remained, regardless of how he looked at his Potions Professor. This was probably just what Dumbledore had referred to when he said that he may never know for sure…

After the lesson, in the Entrance Hall, Harry got at his friend, but carefully.

"Say, Hermione, why didn't you ever tell us? I never even realised that the Slytherins were actively obstructing us in Potions, beyond the obvious stupid jokes. But only today, I saw you build a shield against them very early on, and effortlessly. You probably started that years ago, right?"

Ron gasped with surprise.

"Is that true!"

Hermione looked at her friends, taken aback by their demeanour.

"Yes, of course! You're sure, Harry that you only noticed today?"

She was exasperated, but not about the feeling of betrayal that she sensed in them.

"Oh dear! You have not ever protected yourself against them? Well, I have – I had to, and not only in Potions –, right from my very first days at Hogwarts, even before we three ever really became friends! You know that some teachers protect their classes against student mischief, but Snape never did. You know, too, what most Slytherins think of – well, Muggle-born witches, and believe me, they've been trying to get at me from everywhere, even in the Great Hall at eating times!

"At first I was ashamed, but then it became so much of an everyday accessory that I just forgot! It's not really difficult magic, either. I didn't tell you – or anyone else, I think. It became routine even before we three got together. You don't tell me about brushing your teeth, do you?"

"Forgot! But you should have told us! We are your friends!" Ron moaned.

"Oh, I think I believed you were well aware of their hate and had found your own defence methods."

Ron went on: "And that we were just rather bad at potions, eh?"

"Don't-blame-me-for-stuff-like-that-stupidity-of-yours-Ron!" Hermione gritted out.

Both of Harry's friends were red in the face, glaring at each other.

Harry knew he had to end their quarrel now, on the spot. This was too important.

"STOP IT, you two! Hermione, you said that Snape never protected his class against fights among students? But other teachers do? I never knew that, either…"

Hermione stared at him in utter disbelief.

"You don't know that! Didn't you ever read the school rules? It's in there," she said faintly.

Ron tried to stop his grumbling. He seemed to know that bit, or at least was not surprised at all. Harry was not sure that what Hermione had just said had really registered with him yet.

"Well, Snape wouldn't, would he? For the sake of Slytherin points – and for the fighting itself, if we are close to the truth at all... You can be sure he sure likes that! And he probably did protect Malfoy and the other Slytherins – against stuff coming from our side..."

"Yes, he did that," nodded Hermione. "In a way. He DOES protect the room – or some corners, rather, see? Most of all the area his beloved Slytherins work in usually. How come you noticed in the end – in sixth year?"

She shook her head a little. Neither of the boys reacted to that. But both Ron and Harry were listening to her words with eager curiosity, so Hermione continued.

"And some other teachers do, indeed. One should think a wizard would have noticed right away! Harry wouldn't, of course, in the beginning at least, but you, Ron – your mom DOES use spells like that, doesn't she? I mean – I KNOW she does..."

"Yes, of course, but... here, in school..." Ron was dumbstruck though he had seemed to take things in passing.

Hermione passed his remark over mercifully, and began ticking off points on her fingers.

"Let me see. The greenhouses are protected for the obvious reasons – you must have noticed that?"

Both Ron and Harry looked at her rather sheepishly.

"Oh, well… Boys!" she spat, almost Snape-like in her contempt.

Ron tried to defend them.

"Well, we did notice, but there, it's somehow so – matter of course, I never thought it was done systematically, or as a part of something more meaningful..."

Hermione ignored his words.

"You do know, and I am sure of that, that the school is warded against apparating inside grounds, that the floos only allow for firecalls, not travel, unless cleared by the Headmaster himself, that even Dementors can't normally enter Hogwarts grounds without Dumbledore's permission, and that's only the obvious bits... Yet you still can believe that there's no pattern to that! Oh dear... Even Hagrid uses one or two protective charms with the more dangerous creatures although he is not supposed to do so. He's pretty good in Stealth, believe me!"

"Too bad – otherwise, Malfoy might have been eaten at one time or the other!"

Ron cheered up a little.

Harry smiled at the prospect, but Hermione ignored both of them and went on.

"So, who else wards their stuff, and how? Binns obviously doesn't, his lecturing being a most effective sleeping charm in itself. Trelawney didn't – is she back, by the way? – I think she can't, really. Firenze doesn't have to – all the magic he does not agree with is merely turned into something else around him. McGonagall obviously does, and very effectively so.

"With that Umbridge woman, even you two noticed, for the clumsiness of it. Remember her attempts to listen in everywhere during lessons?"

"Wait – but listening in could not really be called Protection, could it?" Ron asked.

Hermione was exasperated, but decided not to show it too much.

"Well, yes, and no – I would, in her case, consider it to be a kind of active Protection, technically."

"Oooh, technically...," Ron muttered under his breath.

She ignored that.

"In my opinion, Umbridge did it that way because she was not able to control a room of students for a whole lesson.

"Professor Flitwick does it, too, and selectively, like Snape – but he obstructs the known, or would-be, troublemakers, no matter whom or what they are, and mostly only while they are at it. I don't think he believes in sedating students magically. He is very fast with it, too. Have you never noticed how you plotted mischief –"

"Mischief, oooh," muttered Ron again, interrupting her.

"Mischief, and how the thought of it died out quite soon, and peacefully, during his lessons?"

Ron gaped at her, looking rather stupid. He had indeed noticed something like that, but never given it a further thought... and why that was, suddenly became obvious to him. What other surprises did Hermione have in store?

"How would you know about plotting mischief in lessons, Hermione?" Harry baited his friend.

She glowered at him but did not rise to that. Experiments to verify suspicions, probably...

Her next words bore no surprise at all, though.

"Now, Professor Snape selects his protégés and – well, dis-protégés – for different reasons, which you can imagine for yourself. Some, he grants shelter, and some, he makes a target. This goes for members of Slytherin house as well."

"But I seem to get on better, lately! Maybe he has put up that protection for me, too?"

"I shouldn't think so, Harry…He surely hasn't done that for me – nor Neville, either," said Hermione, shrugging.

"So that means that Neville might not know anything about this…"

"I'm sure he doesn't," Harry said. "I'll see to that – today, if I find the time, and before the next meeting of DA in any case..."

Hermione continued, nodding slightly.

"Snape has probably just dis-targeted you, sort of, Harry. The other teachers only use wards to get rid of nasty surprises and be able to conduct their lessons in peace. But Snape enjoys playing little games, you know how he is – protection, in his lessons, is rather difficult sometimes, and increasingly so lately. Why it should seem easier to you, Harry, I have no idea.

"The measures necessary to deflect change in his classes... Maybe what he does is a kind of substitute for not being permitted to teach Dark Arts, much in the manner you suggested several days ago, Harry… That is why that idea of yours stunned me so...

"In fact, what he does is very telling and instructive, like a bonus thrown in for those who notice."

"Intimidation as a bonus? Thank you very much!"

Ron was appalled.

Impatiently, Hermione continued. "But don't you see, Ron? Snape has to do what he does! Snape provides the Slytherins with a vent! Just try to imagine what they might be up to if they felt that no-one was monitoring them, and were left alone with their hate for us! They would have wreaked havoc already by now! We owe it to Professor Snape that life at school is relatively safe!"

Ron gaped at her in disbelief.

Hermione was clearly still thinking along the same lines Harry was.

But while she could detect patterns in the protective measures of the teachers, and obviously had done so years ago, which Harry had not been able to do, she did not suspect a greater game behind this, crediting the less agreeable incidents to Snape's unpleasant personality and envy, and his delight in the Dark Arts. She assumed that he'd do such things merely for his personal amusement and satisfaction, to get at least some of what he really wanted, while Harry now knew those things to be much more than that.

Considering the attacks and insults Hermione had to endure because she was of Muggle extraction, there was no surprise in this point of view.

What they had just experienced would change that point-of-view radically.

Harry was quite sure by now that there was more to it. He said: "However, if he doesn't end whatever it is at least for Neville, we will have to think something up."

Hermione agreed heartily.

Ron was lost in thought, probably trying to remember incidents that pointed to being impeded in his actions by teacher's wards.

"See, Hermione, I think what just happened was intended to be a warning, and Dumbledore's Army needs to be on the alert all the time now."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That could be true, Harry."

"I wanted to speak to Snape anyway today. I'll go see him about Neville, and will try to let him know somehow that we got his message!"

To himself, Harry thought that today's events were also intended to get him to make his move... Snape was pressing his point about the urgency of his learning Occlumency. Probably, time really was running short – how could he know? Harry suddenly felt horrified at the idea that the Dark Lord might stage a major attack at Hogwarts, or using his fellow students, and that he, merely because of his pride and silly defiance, would not be prepared...

"No, Harry, that is not your..."

"Hermione, as I said I've got to go see him anyway, to somehow make him teach me... er, Remedial Potions, you remember," Harry looked about him, but no-one was within earshot except for his friends, "- again, and this is a great reason to go and speak to him. I think he still didn't accept my apology, so I've got to try again…"

"You what! Not again, Harry, please, you've – you are too good for that – oh, forget it!" Ron exclaimed, suddenly accepting that his indignation was useless. Harry was not to be stopped anyway once he was decided.

"I can't help it, Ron. I – we just have to take his lessons, no matter what they are! You just saw what happened, and that's nothing like the real thing!"

Ron nodded. What he remembered of the fight in the Department of Mysteries was bad enough. "But how can you stand even the idea? I just shudder to think – to apologise to that git, and beg him to teach you you-don't-know-what!"

"I don't expect him to listen at all anyway, you know. It's not all that bad anyway once you've made up your mind. I have no choice, Ron. It's not only that Dumbledore's leaning on me, and no-one else seems to find the time to teach me, regardless of everyone telling me that I'm the hope of the wizarding world and stuff. I also feel that we are running out of time. Want to swap?

He grinned at his best friend who made a face.

I'll go see him later in the afternoon.

Ron made as if to retch, but silently, Harry shrugged, and grinning in agreement, they followed Hermione to lunch.

Ron was amazed how Harry had changed. There was no confusion in him anymore, nor the anger that had made him a very volatile companion most of last year, but a sort of determination that reminded him of the Headmaster if of any he knew at all. Also, he was beginning to take in what Harry's scar meant, the popularity he had always envied, if secretly and with a feeling of shame. The Prophecy had shocked Ron when Harry finally had told him what it was about. The responsibility to kill for the good of all, and never a choice? No, thank you.

Ron was determined to stand by Harry's side though, hoping he'd be strong enough to never desert his friend.


	19. Apologies Earn Punishment

**19. Apologies Earn Punishment**

After what just had happened in Double Potions, Harry intended to ask Snape for a relief for Neville. To have him exempted or warded from any practical jokes in class would be a relief to him and the other members of Dumbledore's Army. Asking for this would also help Harry to see what Snape was up to, but he was already half-hearted about it. He should in any case to talk to Neville first. Neville would have to learn. The plump boy would have to be able to defend himself eventually, without having friends to take care of him around. On the other hand, after the events in today's lessons, some protection for him seemed more urgent than ever.

One thing that Harry did not like was that his asking, in this light, was merely a pretext. It was a working pretext though, a good subject to start a conversation with. Harry hated using Neville's troubles like that, but he also would hate standing in front of the Potions master completely at a loss for words.

Harry remembered how much the small, podgy, awkward boy had improved during the final meetings of Dumbledore's Army last term, and how bravely, if somewhat inefficiently, Neville had fought in the Ministry. It was not a good idea to rob him of the chance to practice. What they could do was to alert Neville to the things going on if he continued to fail to notice. Hermione would have to teach him to build up a protection against the Slytherins. It probably wouldn't even take long, given Neville's recent amazing history of successes. The thought of Potions as Defence practice in itself might help greatly, adding a level of handling it.

No mercy on Snape's side could, even if granted which was highly unlikely, really be helpful here, but probably would rather be the opposite. „Real" Dark Arts lessons could, Harry was sure, never be anywhere near as effective in improving their defensive skills as the challenging realism of the present situation in Potions, with all its dangers and surprises: what an opportunity for training!

Take the contest between the houses... Playing practical jokes was, in a sense, still one step closer to reality than was any lesson on how to do or deflect such things, no matter how practical that lesson was...

All of this, Harry felt sure, was very much the Potions Professor's objective.

In this way, Harry would not have to ask anything of Severus Snape, except for the Order, which was another plus. He slowed down, very much tempted to just turn back and leave things as they were, merely showing by his actions in Snape's classes that he had gotten the gist.

So, this was Defence against the Dark Arts or rather the Dark Arts in themselves, combined with Potions...

He decided that he would be GOOD at it, whatever it was called.

The scary realism brought a lot of additional tension into the school which Harry didn't like, but then, this was no sanctuary – or was it?

All of it also pointed to war – real, unconditional war, between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin, at the very least – unfair enough, as the other houses would be almost entirely with Gryffindor...

Harry realised what an odd thought that was, considering that the other side had the advantage of not having to adhere to any rules as long as their actions supported the Dark Lord and his aims.

They were free to even use the Unforgivables if they did not mind the Ministry of Magic...

Harry then stopped dead in his tracks.

He_ realised, felt fully and with his whole heart,_ that _war, REAL war, had finally come to Hogwarts._

Not even the events in the Hogwarts Express and Malfoy's hate had managed to make him appreciate it all.

There would be no practice anymore now – if only by his understanding of the situation…

Harry shook himself. It was one thing to theoretically know such a thing, but quite another to feel it, in one's heart.

Harry really, really hated it. Hogwarts was his home, more than any other place, and like everybody else, Harry Potter longed for peace, at home, and in the world. Yet, the challenge of the situation intrigued him. He wondered how the old Headmaster felt about things. He must be tired…

Hogwarts was no refuge anymore, regardless of wards and a protective Headmaster like Dumbledore, who'd also been reinstated into all his considerable positions in the wizarding world, and could wield a lot of weight.

There was no difference whatsoever any more between a situation that included the chance of being killed in a kind of game or competition at school, or a war – outside of the average age of the participants... They all were only sixteen or seventeen... Like parents, like sons...

Harry's thoughts returned to the present. He must have been standing in front of the Potions classroom, lost in those gloomy thoughts, for several minutes. Pulling himself together, he remembered all the things that Dumbledore. Harry was resolved to see this through. He and the Potions Professor had to make peace.

"Come on in then, will you?"

Snape's dark voice, rather impatient but not altogether unfriendly, was clearly audible through the thick dungeon door.

Harry stepped inside.

"What is it, Potter? I am expecting visitors!"

Snape glared at him.

"Ermh..."

Merlin, a pretext... It was nothing more now, and he DID need it.

"I – Professor Snape, sir – well, I would like to ask you to please exempt Neville Longbottom from being teased… From things like those that happened today, this kind of practice, by warding him, like you protect the Slytherins... At least for some weeks, he is not... not fit for this, yet, sir. It would be easy for you to shield him. His parents, do you know..."

"No, Potter."

This flat denial encompassed everything that Harry might say or Snape might know in the matter.

A pause.

Snape did not bother to tease Harry by denying that anything unusual had been going on during his lesson.

"Let me congratulate you on finally noticing. You did act swiftly, today. Although you are mistaken in so far as that I do NOT protect anyone, Slytherin or not. It is not your job to ask for such things either, Mr. Presumptuous – do send the Prefects, and let them have my no on the matter! Anything else?"

Snape's answer was rude, of blunt finality, and left nothing to be discussed.

Well, Neville lived, relatively unhurt, and was even improving, after all. This might be for the better in the end.

"No, sir."

Harry turned to leave, but stopped. He'd almost forgotten what it really was that he had come to ask of the forbidding man. He just had to!

Feeling Snape's eyes upon him, Harry turned back to his Professor. He looked into the unfathomable blackness of his eyes, and very carefully opened his mind to his Professor like he had last time, letting him feel his latest considerations, concerning war, some of them at least. No matter if his opponent should know, the cards were on the table. This was the fastest way, too. It was now, or never.

After some moments of reading him, the Potions master spoke. Harry dropped his look, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, yes. Well perceived, Potter. You are picking up on it. Better manners too, lately, I seem to notice. Thank you for informing me about... your progress in that area. What else do you want?"

Had Snape just praised or at least acknowledged him, and was the second time already!

Harry cleared his throat.

"Actually, what I just told and showed you was not what I came to see you about either, but you will understand, sir, that those sudden realisations have made me feel the urgency of – of resuming Occlumency lessons with you, sir, as soon as possible, belated or not. What is more, I think I will implore you to teach me if I have to, and will say again right here that I am really sorry for what I did… then. I do believe I am growing out of such habits, sir."

Harry had not thought he would dare to do it now…

Snape said nothing, staring darkly at him, not probing his mind now, but appearing to consider.

Surprising himself, Harry looked at Snape again, and saw in that pale face a mixture of distant anger and – amusement. No sneering, no contempt, no rage nor triumph, but faint and honest amusement... It was there for a mere instant only, and was gone so fast that Harry thought he must have imagined it.

Had Snape forced that question out of him? No – that was a silly thought. Harry had been shaken by the story of Idane's death, but he'd let the dour Professor have a bit of his mind no less, eventually.

Harry felt urged to say something whatsoever.

"I do believe, sir, that Neville will eventually be able to handle such threats as he faced today. You can't really stop us from helping out there..."

"Neither would I bother, Potter. What I can do, and cannot do, is determined neither by your discretion nor by your and your friend's limited perception, Potter – thank Merlin."

The boy hardly noticed Snape's rude unkindness – that merely was to be expected, and lost its bite entirely in the light of his recent realisations and the relief of finally having done it –, but was lost in thought again. Slowly he turned toward the door to leave.

"Potter…? Manners!"

"Yes, sir, I am sorry, sir – Am I permitted to leave?"

Snape nodded, mollified.

"Have a good day then, sir…"

Harry felt he began to really get a grasp on this. Keeping up appearances meant just nothing, and did not turn a hair on his head. This was the logic of war! Snape was teaching them all, the Slytherins, too, what life under the Dark Lord's rule would be like, what to do about it, from either perspective – and the hard way, too.

Harry stopped once more and turned his attention back to his Potions Professor who had cleared his throat to speak.

"I suggest that you," Professor Snape began quietly, and stopped abruptly. He started again, his voice now rising in sudden unexpected anger.

"Well, Potter," – Snape had not spat his name like that in weeks, Harry noticed – "I have had it with you and your cunning little games! That is 20 points from Gryffindor, AND detentions, WEEKLY, for the rest of the term! Come here tomorrow evening, after dinner, eight sharp. I expect punctuality! And now, do get out and make it fast, will you!"

Harry, completely flustered, obeyed immediately, grabbed his bag, and made for the door hurriedly. He tore it open.

"Oh, detention it is then, Potty? No more Remedial Potions? Lucky you are - and only 20 points from Gryffindor, too bad! But couldn't you see to get what you really deserve? And soon, too?"

These sentences came out with enough hatred and bile to make a Basilisk feel ill.

Malfoy and several other Slytherins stood in front of Harry, waiting to be called in.

He hurried past them, catching an elbow or two, fuming. 20 points off – for nothing at all! And in front of Draco Malfoy, too, of all people!

Raging inside, Harry lost his grasp of things. He did not understand anything anymore. Thoughts and concepts that had been clear as daylight to him just a moment ago lost their terrible brilliance over that exchange, his anger, and his hatred of that Slytherin gang.

He had been honest with Snape, felt almost close to him for a moment, and not entirely unwelcome – and then, out of the blue, he'd lost his house points for nothing at all – again!

Harry told Hermione and Ron about this in the common room, almost howling with rage. Other Gryffindors came over to pity him and calm him down. Lee Gordon offered him a free choice from his supply of Wizard Wheezes to have it back on Malfoy and his buddies.

That night, Harry went to bed early and fell asleep late, thinking and turning over things in his mind.

**I**n the end though, Harry did sleep, regardless of his anger at his Potions Professor and his annoyance with his situation, feeling faintly reassured that he was indeed not crazy, but that his reckoning held true. He felt he did probably understand why this had to happen, in the way it did, too, and, what was more, that it might well be worth 20 points to have a cover provided right from the start – at least if he managed to stop attaching any value whatsoever to such things as house points, or trophy cups that were only put in the Trophy Room to be looked at in better times anyway... by posteriority…

Also, whether he liked to or not, Harry had to admit that Snape had shown amazing presence of mind.


	20. A Call to the Headmaster

**20. Another Summons**

Harry awoke feeling refreshed. He'd had no nightmares even though he'd forgotten to take the Dreamless Sleep, and decided that apparently, aggravation could be an excellent sleeping draught. His anger had evaporated, too. Snape's detentions – that must be the man's way of showing his acceptance of an apology, and the setting of a date for the lessons... It had been, too, a very convenient moment with Draco Malfoy and his buddies being within earshot, and no-one the wiser.

But why had they been down there at all?

He had not told his friends why he thought Malfoy and his creeps had been down at Snape's office. It would not be a huge surprise in the present light of things, but all there had been so far was wild surmise after Hermione had gone to see the Headmaster – a shot into the blue, mainly made to raise Ron's hackles at first…

Harry was sure that Snape was teaching the Slytherins Dark Arts, and probably other things, too. Of this, the events during the last Double Potions lesson were proof enough.

When they were heading for breakfast, Harry asked: "Hermione, why didn't you ever TELL Neville about the wards? You must have noticed that he had no idea about what was going on. He'd done better for knowing it, for sure!"

Hermione blushed.

"And did I ever mention that, since a couple of weeks, I got the feeling that things are easier for me in Potions? I wonder what that means..."

Hermione was happy not to have to talk about Neville. "I noticed that you seem less distracted, Harry, so maybe it's only your attitude toward Professor Snape?"

Harry grinned.

"Strange... that's just what Dumbledore said, and I am sure there's more to it... I don't believe it though. It simply must have to do with the wards."

His friends did not react to that.

"Yesterday, I asked Snape to exempt Neville from pranks, warding him for some time, until he's stronger."

"WOW! So you did see Snape again? And what did the git say?"

"You have one guess precisely, Ron."

"So, no, obviously."

"And right in one, too! I admit mentioning it was a bit of a pretext, too, sorry for Neville, but I don't think that any other situation would have changed his answer."

"That mean, greasy git!" interjected Ron.

"And he told me to send the Prefects for him to give the same answer to more competent persons."

"He is really...

"You already said that, Ron," Harry interrupted his friend, tired of Snape-bashing regardless of his own general feelings for the man, and added with a malicious grin: "And he's right, actually. Neville will do better if there's a need. In any case, I think you and Hermione should go see him on that matter, to try and get relief for Neville anyway."

Ron stared at him, trying to gauge the seriousness of Harry's words, but Hermione responded eagerly: "Of course, that is a great idea – Ron, let's go to the dungeons right away! The events in Double Potions yesterday more than justify protection for Neville! He could have been hurt, falling like he did!"

She was tugging at Ron's sleeve urgently, dragging him into the direction of the Potions classroom.

Ron rolled his eyes, not managing to jerk his sleeve free, and implored: "But, Hermione, not before breakfast... please? Snape will be there, too!"

She did not listen, but continued to pull him along.

Since Hermione was not looking at him anymore, Harry grinned widely and winked at Ron who in turn glared at him, and said: "Now that's the spirit, Hermione... Ron, why don't you support her? Do you think that's fair to Neville?"

Ron almost snarled at him, being dragged off in the direction of the dungeons, and said, "Oh, come on, Hermione, look at Harry, he's just kidding! After breakfast, ok?"

And, to Harry, when she still did not react: "I think it's no use! Hey, STOP IT!"

Harry finally came to his assistance: "Hold it, Hermione, there's really no use – I've heard and seen him say it."

But Hermione didn't stop to pull Ron in the general direction of Snape's office and said, between gasps of exertion from dragging her friend along: "Never mind, the ... git just has to... do something... about this... We have… to make.. that request… official…!"

"Hermione, stop! PLEASE listen to me! Remember what we said about Potions being Defence against the Dark Arts? Neville needs that chance for training just as much as we all do, if not more so! I believe if we tell him what is on, or even show him, he might eventually be able to detect mischief coming his way on his own, and defend himself! He'll need a real-life situation to train, too! You could teach him to protect himself. It's a great subject for Dumbledore's Army, as well – what do you think?"

Hermione had become thoughtful at his words, and slowed down. She let go of her Ron's garments, and nodded her assent.

"We'll try that first. But if it doesn't work, Snape'll get an earful!"

She turned and followed Ron, who had, upon his release, hurried to proceed into the Great Hall, likely as much because he was hungry as out of fear of being dragged off to the dungeons again if he stayed around.

"What is more," Harry said to her in a low voice, holding Hermione back, "is that we have to keep this under the blankets. Remember the detentions I raved about yesterday? I've come to think that they are an excellent pretext for learning Occlumency again, and that Snape intended just that!"

She looked at him ponderously and eventually nodded, already lost in thought.

When Harry was about to enter the Great Hall in the wake of his friends, he heard his name being called, and saw Minerva McGonagall beckoning to him. She motioned for Harry to follow. They ended up close to the staircase, well within sight of everyone but with a lot of open, empty space around them.

"The Headmaster asked me, Mr. Potter, to tell you to see him this afternoon, after lessons. He might not find another date to meet you this week for... your usual talk."

Harry nodded, saying: "I do have an appointment with- with Miss Snape, Professor…"

"Well, after that, then."

His head of house's demeanour changed, and the Professor eyed him with concern. She lowered her voice.

"Are you alright, Harry? I do not know myself all of what you seem to have to learn from the Headmaster, but what I do know of it is no pretty story."

Harry said: "I am fine, Professor, thank you," and smiled at her to show his appreciation for her concern. "Thank you for telling me."

Minerva McGonagall nodded.

"Good day to you, then, Mr. Potter!"

Unsmiling, the Gryffindor head of house turned to go.

Lost in thoughts, Harry watched her walk away. Since the attack by Umbridge and her helpers, Professor McGonagall frequently used a walking stick, although not right now, and rumour was that she'd been at St. Mungo's for treatment most of the summer. The head of Gryffindor house had always been rather haggard, but the lines in her face had become deeper, and somehow, she seemed more cat-like than before.

Harry had not quite forgotten that, though being the only person to speak to him openly, or as if he understood and had a knowledge of things last year, before – he avoided that thought –, she had not bothered to explain anything to him either, or told him what was up, what was expected of him, and why. He'd felt utterly deserted and betrayed, by all of his teachers, and she wasn't to be exempted from that. She was his head of house, after all.

Even from what she had said just now, he still had to piece things together for himself, and could not stop himself from again blaming the grown-up wizards and Order member for what had happened later, in part at least. What was it with all that secrecy and him not being old enough to act appropriately? Keeping things covered up obviously had not been the point in the end, had it?

How could they expect him to know about all those things, like intrigues in the Ministry of Magic, or the implications of Dumbledore's being relieved of all his functions? He'd been raised a Muggle, and still spent all his summer with Muggles! Hermione might have explained some things to him, but Harry was sure that even a more careful and in-depth lecture of the Daily Prophet would not have furthered his understanding of the situation much then, or prepared him for what was to come... Or made him more careful when it came to his godfather being in danger…

'Leave it be, Harry!' he told himself, and walked over to his friends. Ron had tucked in heartily already while Hermione was waiting for him.

'You ought to have listened to Snape though,' a very tiny, ugly voice at the back of his head said.

The git!

He'd be having detention with him later today, whatever that would be like now, or one of those most exerting Occlumency lessons – the latter if he was lucky.

Right now, Harry was curious what the Headmaster's tale today would be, and determined to push aside the thought of facing Snape for as long as he could. Maybe the old wizard would even be willing to give him a couple of hints on how to treat the irascible Potions master.

He made his way to the greenhouses to meet Silva Snape. He'd ask her, too.

---------------

Harry spent his second very intriguing and very nice afternoon with Silva Snape in assisting her to recall the basics of wizardry. They practiced many basic spells. He'd been amazed how very fast she was picking up what she claimed to have never used for twenty-odd years, and she'd said something like "old habits die hard". Silva Snape needed to practice hardly anything he suggested more than once.

She had not been of much help to him about how to treat her brother, claiming he had expressly demanded that she not talk with Harry about him in any detail, and that she did not want to ignore his wishes now that they were reunited, sort of. Silva said, too, that Snape was not happy at all when he found out who was to tutor her, but said that she'd given him a bit of her mind when he'd tried to talk her out of it.

Harry couldn't quite make it out. Silva had not struck him as being compliant or even accommodating toward her brother, but she seemed unwilling to ignore his orders here. It was almost like she couldn't. As soon as Harry noticed that talking about her brother caused her discomfort, he'd left the subject anyway, not wanting to anger or aggrieve her.

They had been halfway through the second year curriculum, or at least through what Harry remembered of that, within two hours the first time they practiced, and had finished that off today after another hour, after that starting with third year stuff. It turned out that Silva could teach Harry almost as much as he could her, once her memory returned, little by little. Magic really must be ingrained with Silva – more than once, she had known a spell and performed it flawlessly, only to realise later that she had no idea really what it was supposed to do before she cast it, or where and when she had learned it.

In the end, Harry came to merely throw the names of spells, hexes, and charms at her. Silva would then try to perform them instinctively, hardly ever failing, and only after this, Harry related the basics and theory of them, or what he did remember of that. They had agreed that this was the best course of action, giving him the chance too to recapitulate the theory of what he knew. After that, Harry checked with the textbooks and read out the correct information to Silva, more often than not telling her what she was doing and why when she did it, and generally surprising himself with how much he really remembered, and quite correctly as well. This was most gratifying!

Yet Harry found there were a lot of things that he had already forgotten himself, and there were bits of information that he was sure he had missed out on entirely the first time around when he learned the spells. None of it was crucial, but it added a lot detail and depth to his knowledge.

All in all, this was intriguing, and they were laughing a lot. Silva's quirky mind provided scores of associations and ideas that Harry had never thought of before, some of which were really amazing. They were having a load of fun that way, joking and throwing cues at each other like practised Muggle stand-up comedians.

Harry felt more relaxed with her than with anyone else except his two best friends, and than he had in a very long time.

Finally exhausted, Silva Snape and Harry Potter sat on a rickety bench behind the greenhouses. Hardly anyone ever came there; unless they knew they were by themselves, that was. Professor Sprout had agreed to their meeting there, fully accepting that Silva preferred to practice her magic in private.

Silva knew that, since Harry had grown up with Muggle relatives, there must be many whens and hows and things he would not know about which went without saying with children from wizarding families like the Weasleys, and appeared incidental to them.

Ron had shown Harry many wizarding peculiarities already, often exhilarated by his questions. Naturally, he also lacked the distance to understand what Harry might need to know but did not and, hence, could _not_ ask about. That Hermione was deeply interested in the things Harry asked as well and seconded many of Harry's requests and inquiries, tended to subdue Ron's hilarity quite a bit, which was a help.

Harry Potter found that, within the mere two hours today alone, he had learned more about the wizarding world and society than even during his recent meetings with Dumbledore, or by inference.


	21. An Untimely Death Discussed

**21. An Untimely Death Discussed**

Even after talking to Silva, Harry still was exasperated about receiving detentions by Snape and having to meet the Potions Professor tonight, although he was quite sure by now that what was in store for him would be lessons, not cleaning duties or suchlike. At the same time, Harry was proud that he finally had succeeded in apologising, that his words and thoughts had been accepted, as it seemed. He wanted to tell the Headmaster of his achievement, and be as early for it as possible.

Harry made his way to Dumbledore's office rather late. There would hardly be time for homework if both the Headmaster and Snape worked him like that in the future. Meeting Dumbledore was something to look forward to at least, even if there were more horrors to be told which he did not expect for today, at least – his after-dinner meeting with Snape, Harry looked forward to much less.

"Good afternoon, Harry. Lemon drop?"

Harry declined and flopped into a seat, not waiting to be permitted to do so.

Dumbledore heard him exhale with relief and smiled a little. Upon a wave of his wand, a tray with pumpkin juice and a variety of sweets in bowls appeared, and another with tea, muffins, scones, and some clotted cream. A range of jam gave off a most delightful smell.

Hovering both trays before him, Dumbledore motioned with his head for Harry to decide. Smiling back widely, Harry pointed at the tea tray. It sailed down and settled in the middle of the bureau, next to the Pensieve. The other tray vanished with a PLOP.

"That sure looks and smells great, sir," Harry stated.

The Headmaster poured him tea, still smiling, and said: "Today's meeting does not concern the subject of Professor Snape's past so much as that of another man."

Oh? Harry wondered to himself, lazily reclining in his comforter, waiting for things to happen. The old wizard shooed a filled cup into his direction which Harry took out of the air gingerly. Those cups might hold their contents whenever the Headmaster sent them flying, but as soon as one grappled for them, they tended to unbalance very easily.

Dumbledore looked Harry up and down in a ponderous manner, avoiding his eyes for any amount of time as usual.

The boy was in a good mood, if a bit tired by all appearances. The Headmaster hated to destroy that, but things had to be brought to a head. Silva Snape's report of their meetings had hinted at gnawing feelings of guilt in the boy, and a need to voice them soon. Dumbledore was quite sure what this was about. Also, since Harry and Severus were to pick up their lessons today, it would be necessary to go ahead. Postponing what he was to tell Harry tonight, until after he and the Potions master finally got down to work, might endanger both of them... Whatever was torturing the boy must be out in advance. Their meetings had been intended to effect release there after all, among other things.

Dumbledore did not like what he would have to do today any better for that.

"Not all has been said, Harry. What comes next will likely be painful to you, but you need to understand... There is something I have to tell you that, I am afraid, will greatly upset you if you have not guessed it yet, which I do not think you have. I do wish it was in my powers to leave this part of the story out, but it is crucial in more than one respect, and you have a right to know if you are supposed to understand.

"This is going to hurt, and I would not be amazed if it would alienate you and your Potions Professor further still. I am risking a lot in acquainting you with what I am going to tell you today and, by it, provoking your anger. I don't think Remus ever dared mention anything about that to you. But you have got to know what was really behind Severus Snape's temporal madness upon discovering Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack, and the real reason of Professor Snape's hate of your godfather, if there is to be any kind of co-operation between you and Severus in the future – if any good shall come from it. You might, Harry, by that proceed from your demands for a right to know to understand the burden of knowledge, and the duty to it, to bear it. Professor Snape, for one, surely could teach you there."

Harry cocked his head in surprise that the mentioning of his godfather. A mood of sinister expectation settled on him. He did not want to think or talk about Sirius, or worse, about his death! What was more, he did not like to hear Sirius's name mentioned in one sentence with that of Snape.

Harry decided to take the matter in his own hands, regardless of the dark implications he'd just heard. There was something he'd been wanting to know urgently for some time now. Before Dumbledore could continue with what he had set out to explain, Harry asked:

"Professor – when will the Ministry clear Sirius's name? He's fought very bravely..."

Dumbledore sighed. Young Potter was getting to the point already. This was another question he'd been afraid of having to answer. It could not be postponed forever; Harry would have asked eventually.

"Hm. Has his demise during the fight in the Ministry of Magic helped his reputation? Not at all, I am afraid. I had to keep quiet about his being there, and I think the captured Death Eaters did, too... They wouldn't want to face additional questioning by Aurors on a matter that they don't really know anything about…"

The boy sat dumbfounded, realisation dawned on him.

"WHAT!" Harry gasped, disbelieving.

The Headmaster sighed again.

"If ever someone mentions his being there, I will have to deny any knowledge of it, Harry! I'll have to say that I wasn't down in the Department of Mysteries, which is only half a lie; or even that I don't know how he got there, and we – all of us who know, of the Order – will have to say that he was not there – or even that he was with the Death Eaters..."

Harry yelled with rage: "THIS CAN'T BE TRUE!"

"Harry, my boy..."

"Don't call me that! You..."

Dumbledore interrupted Harry before he could insult him.

"Harry, I might have been reinstated in my old functions and status, but I am not now, and have never been, in any position with the Ministry to just go about and say 'Sirius Black has fought for us in the Dept. of mysteries, he was no Death Eater, never killed a Muggle, please will you rehabilitate him!' You KNOW that, too!

"You must be aware that that has been the situation all along since he escaped, for more than two years now, aren't you? His death, or Voldemort's return, have changed nothing about that – why should they? What is more, Sirius MUST NOT be connected with the Order until his good name is cleared. That is for two reasons: one, the reputation of the Order could severely be damaged if word got out that we hide escaped convicts that are wanted by the Ministry on their word, regardless of their innocence. It would mean that we withheld evidence. The other reason, more important still, is that this might provide clues as to the whereabouts of the Order headquarters itself if it became common knowledge.

If you, Harry, would insist on that part of your story about the fight in the Ministry, newspapers might also very soon be back to their stance of last year, regardless of the fact that you were right in all points and never lied to them."

"No…" Harry whispered. He looked thunderstruck. Understanding was settling on him, and the process was painful. This was worse than Snape's sneering at Sirius that he'd had to witness more than once at Grimmauld Place!

Dumbledore's heart ached for Harry, but he had braced himself.

"Even now that the Ministry of Magic has had to accept Lord Voldemort's return as a fact, my position with them is still weak, and they are trying to make it weaker. Nor will the news of Voldemort's still being alive help this particular matter, Harry. Furthermore, Fudge still is afraid of me.

"You are Sirius's main heir, Harry... He made his will before your parents died…"

"Do you think I care!" Harry blurted.

He'd wanted to scream that sentence, for lack of other words, but a huge lump seemed to block his throat. He swallowed.

No graveyard to go to and mourn his godfather, either...

Tears were running down Harry's cheeks. He thought he might never be able to stop crying again.

The Headmaster sighed. This was bad news, and Harry was taking it hard. What the boy's reaction would be to the other things he would hear tonight, Dumbledore dared not hazard. No child deserved this! He had wanted to spare Harry – and that had not worked out before, but only led to the boy putting himself into the line of spell casting. The old wizard could only hope that Harry's innate strength would stand up to it all.

Dumbledore continued, a bit wearily. Going on was all there was to do. Harry must know the worst, and now, too.

"Let us go back to our story." He lifted a wrinkly, slender hand imperatively, and Harry stopped before he could speak.

"Consider that there very likely have been other incidents like the one you witnessed in Professor Snape's Pensieve without his permission. That occasion where your father saved Severus's life at the Shrieking Shack only cemented his hate. While Severus always retaliated as good as he got, I think he never got over that one... Being saved by the person he hated most… See, young man, you might know that for yourself: sometimes the reasons for it all vanish, but the grudge remains, an ingrained gesture like phantom pain in a limb that's long gone..."

The Headmaster could feel Harry's dislike of the subject, but the boy did not object. Taking advantage of the fact that Harry, while suddenly attentive, did not speak up, Dumbledore said:

"What I have to tell you today, Harry, is likely to be the hardest bit of it all for you, and I want to assure you that I'll be around whenever you need me – allow for an hour to set the wards...

"I am hoping that, eventually, what I am going to tell you will help you to reconcile with the past, to forgive mistakes made and wrongs done – whether they were unavoidable in the course of events or not."

"Your own, even… so that, one day soon, no wards will be needed anymore between me and you."

Listening anxiously and with a sense of foreboding, Harry swallowed nervously. He wanted to say that he didn't' care a bit what Snape's feelings were, but he needed to know more about Sirius.

Dumbledore inhaled deeply. It seemed he could not get down to it. The pain of many losses, the many mistakes that had been made... He was not going to repeat those that he'd made in handling Tom Riddle at school with young Potter, but try and take his time, though...

He admitted that the comparison was not fair on Harry – Riddle had been twisted and thwarted already at an age that had seen Harry utterly innocent, and quite undamaged regardless of the treatment or, rather, neglect received by his relatives. And yet, Dumbledore knew he had missed out on some chances to set things right...

Never mind that. Today was today, and the boy before him probably the only person that could stop the most evil wizard to threaten the world in three generations at least.

"So, Harry, it'll probably be easiest for you to go back in time in your mind and try to remember as fully as possible the events in the Howling Hut in your third year which led to the discovery that Peter Pettigrew was still alive, and in Lord Voldemort's service.

"Do you think you can do that?"

How could Harry ever forget that night? He still sometimes dreamt of the events – which was a relief compared to the dreams about Cedric and...

Harry, while recollecting the sequence of events, nodded.

"I should think you'd be able to. Allow me to put it in words, though. When Professor Snape followed you lot and found Sirius Black in the Howling Hut, he was oblivious to the fact that Wormtail as well, whom no-one had ever known to be any good at anything, could be the Death Eater in question. He did not know that Peter Pettigrew was there, or even alive. Mind you, Harry, neither did I at that point, nor Remus Lupin, nor any other wizard, except Voldemort, of course – only Black knew. We all believed Pettigrew to be dead. Lupin still trusted Black implicitly when they met, being the great friend he is – otherwise they might have duelled in their human forms, too... You yourselves were only just about to learn of the true identity of Ron's pet rat.

"Remember: there had been a finger of Peter Pettigrew as a proof of his demise, and he had vanished together with the other fatalities of the explosion. Why should Severus Snape believe anything else but what was reported and what most everybody believed? One must see that he, from his point of view, had personal reasons to believe this story…"

"Prejudices!" interjected Harry angrily. What was this about? He didn't care a dank mite about the Potions master's point of view of the events!

Dumbledore raised a hand again to stop him.

"While Professor Snape knew what Lupin was and is early on, and assisted him in remaining inconspicuous, I might add, he had no proof of his friends being Animagi until that very day. You saw that, too. Severus did get the clue fast enough in Sirius Black's case when Sirius turned up here after his escape – as if he could smell the man for his old hatred of him. However, I understand Professor Snape was knocked out before Pettigrew was forced to reveal himself in his human shape, and missed most of the revelations Sirius had to make, right?"

Harry nodded. "He would not listen, so…"

The Headmaster interrupted him once more.

"He could not possibly know what you knew when he came to, given he had been willing to believe it, and took advantage of the general distraction. What is more, Severus Snape only came to after Professor Lupin's fateful change and Peter Pettigrew's flight. He found you together with Black, unconscious, at the side of the lake and bound you, to hand you over to the Ministry, rather than the Dementors, but summarily. I am positive of that, even if he said otherwise – he wanted to frighten you.

"There might have been some calculation in that: reaping the fame of catching Sirius Black to ingratiate himself with Fudge who'd by then come to dislike you three greatly for your interference and siding with me. I am sure he never intended any of you to be kissed, before that, in any case. However..."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, who seemed to be angry and confused, not knowing really what to say or where to start, and unable to quite gather what the Headmaster was driving at.

The Headmaster sighed. This was going to be bad.

"Can you still not see what this is getting at, now, Harry?"

Harry just looked at him, slowly shaking his head. Dumbledore could see anticipation build in the boy.

"Just try to remember that your godfather shook hands with Severus in the hospital wing after the Triwizard Tournament, then…"

The Headmaster sighed deeply. This was going to really hurt.

"Remember what I told you about Idane G.'s death?"

"Her murder," Harry affirmed, and Dumbledore could see that the boy disliked the recollection.

The old wizard inhaled deeply. He'd have to be completely straightforward...

"Severus Snape did not suspect Black right away, after partaking of Idane's memories. Only quite some time later, years later, in fact, upon hearing that Black was suspected of the killing of twelve Muggles and Pettigrew for Voldemort, he put what seemed to him to be the facts together.

"See, Harry, Professor Snape then was sure that Sirius had done to Idane what in truth Crouch jr. had done to her. Hence, Black must be a Death Eater secretly, and have been so for a long time – we all did believe as much at that point, even I – what with you parents dead and their alleged secret-keeper on the run. His family has a long history with the Dark Arts, longer than that even of the Snapes…"

The bleak words did not seem to register with the boy. To Dumbledore, this felt like facing some indestructible enchantment that might blow up in one's face at any moment… There was no holding back now, though. The old wizard sighed still again. Old mistakes tended to home in twentyfold…

Deciding to repeat what he'd merely inferred more clearly now, he said: "I shall spell things out for you. What this comes down to, Harry, is that to your Professor, when the news came of Sirius's arrest for the killing of Peter Pettigrew and the Muggles after your parent's murder, it was plain that the hooded figure who tortured and killed his beloved and their child must have been Sirius Black, his old enemy, shrewd enough to hide his countenance from Idane who would have recognised him. Severus Snape believed the hooded figure to have been Sirius Black, your Godfather, who'd reconciled with his cousin, and become a Death Eater secretly, a spy on the Order for Lord Voldemort..."

Harry stared at the headmaster, apparently unable to process what he was being told. Dumbledore went on, repeating himself.

"To Severus Snape, from then on, this was fact. It had been Sirius Black who had viciously tortured Idane to death, participating in that cruel murder because he hated Severus enough to grasp every opportunity to mess things up for him – even though Professor Snape never knew Sirius to be a Death Eater. He assumed him to have been under cover. This belief ingrained itself deeply into him, built mainly on his school time hate, and regardless of the lack of proof. It was the one thing, too, that would have blown his cover, if his assumption was right: if he ever proclaimed his feelings about Black in that context before the Dark Lord. Not to vent this hate but for other the known reasons cost him a lost, but luckily, he didn't..."

Harry, who had been staring at the Headmaster wide-eyed, now gasped for air, but Dumbledore ignored this.

"What happened in the Howling Hut did not change Severus's belief in Blacks involvement in the torture and killing of Idane at first; that riddle was only solved much later when Crouch jr. was discovered. I extracted the truth about Idane's murder from the impostor before he was taken away by the Ministry of Magic to receive the Kiss, confirming my own rather new suspicions. I wanted proof, for Severus's sake. What with Fudge acting so hurriedly, there is no chance to prove it now…Not that it matters anymore."

Dumbledore fell silent, expecting the outburst that had to come anytime now, and fortifying himself.

Harry had been fiercely defensive of his godfather, particularly since his demise, partly because of his own feelings of guilt, but also because he knew by now that Sirius was not flawless either, no matter how much he had liked him, and in part because he missed him so badly. They just had to live through this.

Harry sat speechless, apparently dumbstruck. He then rose, and screamed: "A-WHAT! IT DOES NOT MATTER! ARE YOU-- Is he mad? Is that stupid, treacherous bastard insane? He's a murderer himself! How dare Snape, of all people, accuse my godfather...? He rejoiced TO SEE SIRIUS IMPRISONED… He wanted to turn him over to the dementors, I KNOW HE DID! that git - He's THE DEATH EATER! he'S not worthY to kiss SIRIUs's feet! This is not true! You old, lying…"

The Headmaster's raised hand stopped Harry. "Ssshhh! Harry! Now, now... We KNOW now that Sirius did not betray your parents! I think you yourself believed as much and would not even let Sirius talk in the Howling Hut, remember? Severus had much more evidence than you did at the time that did point to Sirius as the perpetrator of a murder!

Between shouts and heart-broken whispers was only one breath.

"But... but I believed him... I knew right away he had not once… he… and Professor Lupin… It's not true anyway, and Snape has no right..."

"PROFESSOR Snape he is, Harry!"

The black-haired boy turned about in helpless rage, then slumped back into his seat and started to sob uncontrollably. Harry's godfather was dead – as if that was not bad enough! There was no chance for him to ever own up that he'd loved the man like a father, publicly, since Sirius was still not acquitted, and there was a good chance that he now would never be... He would never live with Sirius, the only person he'd ever really had who felt like family, like his own family, the only one he ever got owls from, and who'd known about his parents! All of which was that ugly, nosy git's fault! Had he just been killed by Sirius in the hut, right after he came in, or in his stead… elsewhere!

It was obvious that this would take time to digest, but the Headmaster was sure that Harry would come to realise eventually that nothing in the turn of events would have kept even a mind less biased by hate than Snape's from arriving at such a conclusion. It had been a distinct possibility.

"Listen! Ssshh! Harry! Try and calm down!"

Dumbledore sounded very soothing.

A red-and-white chequered handkerchief appeared out of nowhere, and Harry gratefully seized it. There was also some water on the table in a carafe, and a glass too, readily filled.

"I can't believe it... How he must have hated S... Sirius..."

The sobbing grew stronger again.

Dumbledore decided to continue while keeping an eye on the boy. He must not be permitted to break down from this, but he could not be spared this any longer either. He'd asked for it insistently, too. 'Beware of your wishes for they might come true', an old saying ran.

The Headmaster pushed on.

"Let us go back in time again, to the events after Idane's death. The story Snape told Voldemort when he was summoned after the murder consisted, I understand, mainly of the truth with some holes in it. He has not submitted most of what happened during that meeting to the Pensieve. I shall tell you what I have come to know of it, though."

Rolling his head from side to side on the back of his chair as if in shock, the boy murmured: "I don't want to know this, I don't care... All these lies..."

The Headmaster was not sure if Harry had heard him at all. He decided to ignore that possibility, and continued.

"I got to see this, though..."

Albus Dumbledore stirred the silvery surface of the Pensieve, picking up some lines. His eyelids drooped and his voice changed to Snape's after the first part. It was then devoid of any emotion, and cold.

"Prostrating himself before his master of that time, Snape said to Riddle: 'I told old Dumbledore a really tear-dripping and blood-soaked story about how it had crushed me to find my – well, _mudblood-love_, as my fellow servants like to term it, destroyed like that... It was a terrific shock to him! He surely is, in more than one way, a sentimental old coot... Did you know, my lord, that he desired that mudblood and wanted her for himself once?'"

The Headmaster opened his eyes again, and the eerily Snape-like, resounding voice reverted into Dumbledore's usual calm, friendly tone.

"He did leave that bit in the Pensieve for me to see. Professor Snape is a hard taskmaster, cruel even, and his lessons do hit home, not only with you young ones, believe you me, Harry! Yet, I trusted him when he came to me, offering himself to spy on Lord Voldemort, within the limits that I've tried to explain to you. I had to – even then, regardless. He's the only spy of that importance within Lord Voldemort's ranks the Order has, and his services are badly needed."

Harry was sobbing still, but had stopped moving in that maniacal, repetitive manner.

"Come now; quiet down, Harry, lean back and just listen to me."

Dumbledore felt he had some of the boy's attention again, at last.

"Severus Snape is not only rudely unkind occasionally and very brave in general, he is also the most coldly cunning man I ever met; he is someone who never has merely one goal in mind, and often more than two – there are always second intentions. He is also absolutely ruthless when following through with his aims, as you will have noticed.

"This – Idane's torture and death – is the only matter in which his resolve fails him entirely, where he feels to have utterly failed. I entreat you not to use it against him – you'd prove me wrong in trusting you and, by that, him right – in not doing so..."

Another handkerchief, this time pinkish with a frilly peach-coloured fringe for no obvious reason, floated toward Harry who sat utterly destroyed, vaguely wondering what any of this had got to do with him.

"Dry your tears and prove to us all that you've grown out of childish remorse, maybe even more so than your Potions Professor has yet being a grown man, and let Sirius's sacrifice not be in vain entirely! Allow me to follow my plan and tell you the story, all of it. I will not repeat this offer, or what I tell you now, again!"

The Headmaster sounded very grave when he put that forward. He surely would not undergo that ordeal once more – the old wizard was sure of that at least.

Wide-eyed, Harry assented, after a moment. He sniffed. The handkerchief was oddly comforting, and he held it to his cheek.

"I- I can't… I'll try, sir. Just don't expect me to be grateful right away, if ever, or happy with it, or to love ...Snape forever after!"

"I don't, Harry. Yet you might understand better now what let me hesitate in the first place to bring all this up, and tell you?"

Harry couldn't deny that he did.

"Have some food, Harry, some tea or some pumpkin juice…"

Harry refused at first, but the smell of fresh scones told him that he was ravenous, and eating surely would give him some time to compose himself. He idly wondered that the Headmaster had not offered him his usual lemon drops once again.

When Harry'd finished off the cake and tea, feeling a bit soothed after the shock, but suspecting that the realisation of what he'd just had to hear would hit fully only later, Dumbledore said: "Let me pick up my narrative up where I dropped it, then.

"Yes... I am very happy to have Professor Snape as a confederate and ally, instead of an enemy! There's more strategic thinking in him than in the Dark Lord, or Lucius Malfoy, for instance, even if put together, who both have other means to obtain what they want – or rather think they do, in the latter case."

Harry nodded. He was beginning to feel blotchy, bleary-eyed, and shaken to the bone as he would after hours of Quidditch practice in a hard rain, but wanted to show that he was with Dumbledore again, and willing to listen.

Surely, this must have been the worst! Harry wanted very much to hear the whole of the story, now that the dragon was out. After all, Snape had had to admit that he'd been wrong in the end, and done so, too. Dumbledore's mentioning of his own beliefs before he had heard Sirius out had not gone unnoticed either. Snape had taken his godfather's hand when offered... a gesture Snape had not deserved, as far as Harry was concerned. He would not fall short of his godfather! Yet he could probably still let Snape have it, the better the more he himself knew.

Harry cleared his throat, concentrating away from his rage and pain.

"Malfoy often does get his way, though," he ventured, thinking of Buckbeak's trial, attempting for a change of subject.

"Not as often as he'd liked to, Harry. Remember the outcome? However, in terms of strategy, I believe only Sirius's cousin Bellatrix to be anywhere near a match for your Professor, but she is plain mad. If she ever truly realizes that her master just uses her… Voldemort does very well to realize that he needs Severus Snape, even if he can't fully trust him.

"But to come back to your godfather – after the killing of the Muggles, we were, all of us, including Lupin at least occasionally, quite convinced that Black was the traitor, while I personally had some doubt as to his being the hooded torturer from Idane's memory as Professor Snape would have it, then. Severus came to me, heartbroken with the realisation, and short of a nervous fever, right after the events. Being reminded of his losses in such a way was almost too much even for Severus Snape.

"Remus Lupin, by the way, would have none of that last bit of it, and he and Severus had fights over it when the latter inferred that Black was a cold-blooded traitor and murderer. Apart from me, of course, no-one knew what Severus Snape's accusation of Black was about precisely. Remus was the only one who stood by Sirius all along, even if he could not deny the possibility of treason or blackmail. Telling Remus Lupin that he was sure that his old friend Sirius Black was a Death Eater of a particularly nasty sort would not do, and Remus baited Severus about his own loyalties...

"After the events at the Howling Hut and Sirius's escape, Severus Snape scrutinised again the painful images he had received from Idane, but there was no proof, nothing to honestly justify his suspicion. Nothing came up that allowed for a more definite identification of her hooded tormentor. Severus did try, you know, but he had to admit in the end that he justly could not be sure.

"You see, Harry, even I could not deny at the time that it might have been Sirius, as there was no proof to the identity of the hooded man…"

Harry was about to explode again, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"Sirius had, for all I could see, liked Idane as well as anyone of us, and he'd always despised his cousin Bellatrix, while this hooded figure seemed quite comfortable with her. Sirius Black also had, in most cases _but not all_, been most straightforward if rash in his actions and dislikes, and I could not reconcile what I knew of him with his being a torturer of sorts. Professor Snape had, with his first-hand experience to the opposite from his school days, no such qualms, and explained that Black must have had us all on for a long time, and while I could not believe that, let me repeat: there was no proof against it!

"To me, all of this was very much out-of-character with your godfather, but when he was caught after Pettigrew's alleged death, he would not talk to anyone, but was merely laughing maniacally, and blamed himself for the deaths of those Muggles as well as that of your father and mother. He knew that Peter Pettigrew had gotten away, or was almost sure of it, and that was too much for him. It appears that he was unable to talk about the events without fits of laughter that obliterated his meaning, which was not helpful. He was mad, in a way, for a time, maddened by pain and guilt… Later, there was Azkaban."

Harry was about to take off on yet another rant against Snape, and about to tell Dumbledore to not defile his godfather's memory, but the Headmaster stopped him once more with a raised slender hand.

"Remember what you saw in Snape's memories when you sneaked in on them, and let me continue, please. As you've figured out quite correctly several nights ago, memories are shaped by those who have them, and are probably best put into the Pensieve fresh... So, the shape you saw, and that I pointed out to you as being Barty Crouch jr., was formed in some parts along the lines of Sirius Black by Professor Snape's mind, as a placeholder for the man he now hated most in all the world. Not to mention that his images were second-hand, so to speak… and, hence, the picture not fully reliable.

"I remember that there'd even been a conversation Snape once overheard while spying for the Order, a couple of years later still, after the rat-animagus had been declared dead. He would have sworn that Malfoy, in his study, had talked to Pettigrew, and mentioned the impression to me in passing, putting it down to strain. I did not make anything of it then. We both put it aside as a mistaken perception.

"Obviously, Pettigrew cannot have been the torturer, being too small to be the hooded figure to start with, not to mention his cowardice and fear of pain in general. So when his betrayal became obvious in the Howling Hut, Sirius Black's story still had not been told yet, and nothing been said to disprove the belief that the latter had been, or was still, a secret follower of Lord Voldemort.

"In the Howling Hut, Severus Snape heard only the initial bits of the conversation, putting them down to Blacks devilish cunning. He could only think that, with Sirius cornered, he had the sadistic killer of his love at his mercy...

"See, Harry, when Severus heard what everybody believed Sirius to have done, it fit in just too well with his own suspicions and prejudices, even though he never knew him to be a Death Eater: a traitor to his best friend for the Dark Lord, giving everything to serve his master, just like his cousin; just like he himself would have done not all that long ago – someone like that would not hesitate to torture and kill a woman he had once liked and even courted..."

The boy lost it again. The Headmaster had aimed his last sentences to achieve such a release, too.

"YOU SEE?" Harry screamed. "Snape's mad, he's completely out of it! Sirius would never have..." Harry couldn't say it. "Snape must be insane, he cannot..."

Albus Dumbledore pushed on forcefully, ignoring the outburst.

"I am telling you what Severus Snape believed at that time, and with no evidence against it, but does not believe anymore now, do you hear me? Had it become known that Idane was dead and how she died, many people would have believed the same thing! You could even say that, by not letting become public knowledge what had become of her, Severus Snape protected Sirius, your godfather! I am not asking you to share that belief, or proclaim the actions that came from it wise!

"Do remember, too, that you wanted to hear this! You want to hear the story of Sirius more than that of Snape, surely, but you have to realise that one does not go without the other! Believe you me that both men would heartily dislike that circumstance, too! Hence, I do suggest that you calm down!" rumbled Dumbledore.

His anger deflated Harry a little, but not much. Also, for the first time registered with him the meaning of the Headmaster's repeated words that no-one yet knew of the woman Idane's death. Harry did not particularly care right now, though.

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! No matter what you say, this is ridiculous!"

"Harry, CALM DOWN! Try to look at it from his perspective..."

"NO! You cannot seriously want me to consider the fabrications of a madman!"

Dumbledore sounded imperative.

"Harry, stop here, NOW! You have to take these things as they come! THEY ARE PAST, and history! Neither do they form to your bidding and run as you please! These are no fairy-tales or History of Magic lessons! DO consider that Sirius's flight right after the Potter murders, without bothering to explain anything, whether to his friends or me, did not serve him well – it was rash and stupid! Sirius's own madness, and refusal to speak, did not help matters! Furthermore, I will NOT have you insult Professor Snape any more!"

That did chill Harry a bit.

"Will you listen now, and try not to shout at me?"

No reply, no sign of recognition.

Not good... However, there was nothing for it but to continue, now.

"Will you…?"

Dumbledore waited.

But Harry was not to be had. He should have said 'Yes sir, sorry!', but he could not.

After another sigh, the old wizard decided to take Harry's silence for assent – at least, the boy was not raging anymore at the moment –, and went on.

"When Sirius Black took off without giving an explanation after his best friend's death, to hunt Pettigrew down as we know now, I myself assumed IN HIS FAVOUR that he, in his flamboyant manner, had attempted to infiltrate the Death Eaters, but not known of the impending attack, and wanted to find out more about it on the spot, with Peter's help, probably looking for revenge at the same time. With your parents dead, he also would have no-one to lay proof to his claim. That was the best explanation for Sirius's behaviour I myself could come up with at that point, see?"

Harry went pale.

"But..."

"Harry, you do have to understand WHAT WE DID NOT AND COULD NOT KNOW at that time; what your godfather never bothered to explain, before or after, as I just said! That failure, and it alone, got him all those years in Azkaban!

The Headmaster hated to be that rude, and hurt to see Harry shrink visibly at his words, but the boy was most obstinate, insisting on his prejudices… Severus surely would have liked to see him treating Potter jr. like this!

Harry cleared his throat, bringing the old wizard back from his thoughts of remorse. He sounded quite composed.

"So, if he – if Sirius'd told you that he was not my parents' secret-keeper, and that he was setting out after Pettigrew, you would have been able to protect him?"

Harry had finally accepted the story he was being for what it was, Dumbledore noted with some relief.

"I am not sure of that, Harry, but I would most definitely have attempted to shed light on the matter. I would have known for sure that it could not possibly have been Sirius who killed those Muggles, nor your parents! His having told me would have been proof in and of itself. To bring in Peter Pettigrew, dead or alive, would have been his only proof in any case – it still is now. And there's no way that he'd have been imprisoned for such a long time. But your godfather had to keep his knowledge, and feelings of guilt about transferring the duty of secret-keeping, to himself…

"Harry, the way things went, I could only presume Sirius guilty, like he proclaimed himself to be by his very words upon his arrest, if for different reasons entirely, and not for the murders. He blamed himself to have transferred his secret-keeping duties, but he did not say! So, he now kept the secret very much, but he also was the only one who knew who had betrayed your parents. I must confess that I do not understand why he preferred to take that knowledge with him to Azkaban, thus disabling me and the Order to take charge of the affair, and depriving us of knowledge that would have prevented many of the events that are now taking place."

Dumbledore noticed how Harry was visibly building up steam again, this time from the realisation of the shortcomings of his godfather. He pushed ahead.

"But in this way, the next thing I heard of Sirius Black was that he'd killed twelve Muggles, without a moment of hesitation, and had gotten rid of Pettigrew who'd been after him seeking revenge, obviously! What would you make of such events? Sirius had not taken revenge for his friends, but run amok! With him in insane fits of laughter at his arrest and refusing to speak clearly, but instead uttering wild self-deprecations, nothing much could be done. No-one had any reason or opportunity to assume that there was more to the affair than Sirius Black being a Death Eater secretly, who'd just betrayed his best friend to his master, and gone raving mad right after over it, killing another friend and a dozen innocent bystanders... Can you see the truth of that, Harry?"

Trying to hide the tears running down his cheeks, Harry nodded faintly, his face withdrawn.

"But not all of this was merely stubbornness or the longing for revenge. There was, at the very least, one other reason for your godfather to not talk about what was going on. I think that, when he found out that he had lost all, the one thought Sirius Black held on to was to protect Remus Lupin, his friend who was completely innocent of the goings-on, knew nothing, and whose being a werewolf would inevitably have to come to light during inquiries if he himself confessed to being an unregistered animagus, which again he would have to, in order to accuse Peter Pettigrew of being the same thing, in Voldemort's service, and give a reason for that.

"With Lord Voldemort gone, Sirius did not see much damage in leaving the rat be, wishing on him the gutter existence he seems indeed to have had for some time – before he was taken in by the Weasleys... Still, I do not understand why he did not confide in me while he had the chance…"

The sadness in Dumbledore's voice shook Harry a bit. It was gone though before he could react to it.

"You may take some small comfort in the thought, Harry, that your godfather did indeed give his life in more ways than one to protect his friends. He was a very brave man; he just did not always act on foresight, and he kept his plans and deeds to himself too much altogether – he was never one to take council, or for waiting, but rather to act, and rashly. In that, as in some other things, he is the perfect opposite of your Potions Professor."

Harry was seriously in tears by then once more, but quietly.

The Headmaster let him cry. It would be best to have the pent-up pain out as soon as possible. The lonely and desperate sound of the boy's crying went to his heart, but he knew that whatever consolation he could give was of no use here at all. Fawkes flew over and settled on Harry's shoulder, comforting him by smoothinghis cheek with his golden silken head.

This took quite some time. Eventually, the sobs ceased a bit and Harry tried to dry his eyes with still another handkerchief, in inconsequent shades of blue this time. Harry probably felt ashamed of his outbursts at this point. Waiting for the boy to compose himself, Dumbledore decided that in the meantime, he might as well tell him some more or less deleterious story of Sirius, of Harry's parents, or of Lupin, of course. If he could find any in his memory, right now…

So he continued as if no interruption had taken place, but in quite another vein.

"At least, Professor Snape now appears to have made a kind of peace with Lupin, who is admittedly one of the nicest and most decent and considerate people around – a better-mannered, more polite Werewolf, or man, one won't easily find anywhere.

"Many years ago, Severus eventually took pretty much the position of James and Sirius toward him, due to his brewing of the Wolfsbane potion. He was the only one who could provide Remus with it – without him being registered and restrained by the Ministry. You see, he did that whenever possible, regardless of what had happened! Professor Snape thus protects Remus of the Change where he can, as well as from Ministry regulations imposed on werewolves. This has been happening since long before Remus Lupin came to Hogwarts to teach, and he did it not merely do it for the reason of my asking him. Lupin says he never had any potion against the Change of such potential, one that worked so well and did so little harm, being almost savoury even, whatever that bit of it was worth, so Snape must really be concerned, even if he claims he does it for the common good alone. I can't say I have any idea what makes your Professor do this, Harry."

Dumbledore's smile in Harry's direction met with no reaction.

"Lupin told me, too, that once last year, when a full moon was coming on really strong, due to certain stellar conjunctions and its closeness to the earth, and the Change would have been dangerously hard to control even with the potion, Snape turned up with a flask, without having been called, saying he had changed the recipe slightly – and Lupin just curled up in front of Sirius's fireplace in Grimmauld Place, and slept right through it!

"Your godfather, who was in a good mood that day regardless of his – well, house arrest, complimented Severus, saying he whished they had had that potion then. Severus answered curtly that, _then_, as Sirius was saying, he wouldn't have been able to make this as it had not been invented. They neither got at each other nor took offence that night, and that was the closest thing they ever got to a civil conversation – but, as you can see, it was possible."

"Yes, then."

"Oh, Harry, I am so sorry but – you just can't push these events away forever..."

The old Headmaster himself seemed ready to cry at that moment.

Tears still were flowing down Harry's cheeks quietly, regardless of a whole row of ever-changing fresh hankies in all the colours of the rainbow floating by that he grabbed for unthinkingly, and the boy seemed oblivious of them until he wiped his face with a fist. He looked at the humidity there with surprise, but not with embarrassment, but anger. He swallowed a sob, and inhaled deeply.

"But I am not sorry, sir, and you know that. I rather enjoy hearing nice stories like that, you see? I realise I know so little about Sirius..."

He was not joking, either.

Would this work? Dumbledore hoped that the worst was over now – for tonight.

"Allow me to continue, then... After your godfather escaped from Azkaban, managing to prove, at least to the Order, that Peter Pettigrew lived, and that he himself was innocent; to you and me, to Remus Lupin and, finally, Professor Snape, we never found time between us to really breach the Death Eater issue, and that of his silence upon his arrest, as neither seemed of consequence at the time – a big mistake as I realise now! Sirius had obviously never been a Death Eater, so the reasons for his actions seemed unimportant at that point, and there always were so much more pressing matters at hand... Another talk I missed out on, see, Harry? I intend not to make that mistake again while I find the time…

"It was not as if the Ministry believed any of what had gone on, or would stage a trial for Sirius to clear his reputation, as you know yourself... If such a thing was ever to happen, Peter's survival and betrayal would implicitly be proven, too."

"Yes, and he lives! Pettigrew, the rat! – he lives! I let him! And he..."

Dumbledore did not permit Harry to finish that sentence.

"If your godfather really attempted to spy on the Death Eaters before your parents died, he can't possibly have gotten far, as Pettigrew would have told his master about it, too. He knew who was in the Order, remember, and no-one knew about his allegiance to Voldemort. This gave Voldemort a double handle: someone to put the blame on, and his servant would be able to keep his cover – if Black could be silenced, that was. By Pettigrew's actions, both was splendidly achieved – only Voldemort himself was not around himself any longer to fully profit from it in the envisioned manner, and you survived the Avada Kedavra. That, at least… 15 years of relative peace…"

The old wizard fell silent, looking at Harry, who took some moments to realise that this was a look of praise, and blushed. Were fifteen years of peace a long time, then?

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued.

"However, a presumed attempt to become a spy with the Death Eaters would have also provided excellent reason for your godfather not to partake of the Fidelius charm, and for the Potters to look for another secret keeper... we do not know, see, Harry? We probably never will…

"When your parents were murdered, the thought that there might have been a change of secret keepers was only a fleeting idea that got me nowhere. There was no way of finding out. It does me no better today. Your parents were dead – betrayed, as it seemed, by their best friend, who'd gone insane. Full stop.

"So, I still do not know what was behind the exchange of the secret keeper since I failed to ask your godfather in time, or either of them to tell me, but it would be just like them – as would not telling anyone else be. On Black's side, it can't possibly have been a sudden attack of cowardice to withdraw from the charm, as some like to make out, that much is sure. He never got far with his attempt at infiltration either – if there was any such thing at all... Severus Snape would have known at some point if he had. Also, Sirius would have had to count himself lucky not to have been killed by Voldemort.

"You will realise that all of this worked very much in favour of Voldemort and his lot, regardless of his temporal demise..."

Dumbledore fell silent, giving Harry time to take things in. He was hoping the boy would see how a chain of lonely, uncouncilled, and often rash decisions had led Black to make his mistake, and not be hurt too much by it.

The Headmaster knew that he himself, he alone, was to be blamed for lack of communication when that had been direly needed, but he fully intended to make up for it. He'd just not expected all of this to be so really, really hard on himself...

Not for the first time in his life, Albus Dumbledore ruminated that it was amazing that people DID talk at all, seeing what that led to, all the ensuing damage and pain...

He noticed that Harry was not crying anymore, but shivering slightly as if cold, and he sensed that it was with a kind of helpless rage, and the pain of loss.

This was not over yet.

Harry would have to target again this messenger who bore, in his own eyes, part of the blame. The Headmaster would willingly provide this target – to make good, and to assure the prevention of future mistakes.

"So, once again, Harry, considering that Professor Snape was unconscious for most of the exchange between you, your friends, and the surviving Marauders, in the Shrieking Shack, and looking at the events of the night from that perspective, maybe you can understand that, after leaving the place, it was of no consequence whatsoever to Severus Snape who the Dementors would have kissed that night, including himself, if he could just capture Sirius Black. Gaining favour with the Minister was merely a bonus thrown in. But like before in his life, all plans came to naught...

"I sometimes wonder how he can stand it all…"

Harry was silent to that. They both said nothing for some time.

Was there any other story that could be told, that was anecdotical and quite beside the point, but would soothe Harry's pain a little bit?

He ruminated. Nothing else besides that Wolfsbane story.

A kind of confessional, then.

The old wizard cleared his throat.

"I'll recapitulate, if you permit. There was the time when your father saved Severus Snape's life by following him to the Howling Hut, and preventing him from entering it. After that, Severus inevitably knew that Lupin was a werewolf, and his main impulse in developing the Wolfsbane to perfection later on might have been to protect himself and others from the danger he'd been in.

"When they were back that night, he came crashing into my office, screaming at me that the Marauders had attempted to murder him. Even back then, he was not exactly what I'd call good-tempered.

"I told him that I didn't believe that Black had meant him real harm, and he practically flew at me again and shouted that he didn't care who meant what but that there had been real, factual danger for him... I took that to be consent. Today, I wonder how I could.

"He went on, screaming why should he care if I trusted that moron – what would it matter if he intended to harm or not if HE DID harm? He said Black had acted thoughtless in the utmost, and I had to agree with him there.

"Yet, I did not punish Black, for the sake of Lupin, who was not guilty in this, considering intentions, and for the good I saw in both of them... I reckoned that Severus would understand me better, and did not realise how much I hurt him by that. As I said, I can detect certain similarities...

"His distrust of me, in the wake of what he'd experienced in his school days, was part of the reason behind Idane's death. But truth is, I think, that he really did not and does not care now. He's been destroyed, in a sense. He'd kill me, I think, without a moment of hesitation, should the time come…

"Even then... you'd have to know...

"That night, I told Severus that I thought he'd made up the part about your father, the other time, claiming that James Potter had let him hang upside down by an a-la-mode charm in his underwear in front of the whole school for no reason at all aside of torturing him. As I said, Severus was no lamb either. I am afraid I always turned him down and, sum total, he had to take more of the blame than was his share. I must consider my guilt in pushing him toward becoming a Death Eater... Even though that had been pre-arranged by his parents, I did nothing to divert him there...

"I told you he always gave as good as he got, but I can't deny that my judgement was at fault that time, and that he was subjected to injustice on my part more than once. The boy Severus was into the Dark Arts, an occupation which tends to gather its own momentum, and not a nice, charming boy like three of the Marauders... Also, he was no Gryffindor. Such a bias, too, just like is said of me, must be considered a weakness, and one of the reasons... You can gauge the increase of urgency behind matters, and the danger of this war as well, I believe, by looking at the importance that is attached to any individual's house membership those days. Must have been peaceful and quiet times when I was afflicted like that..."

Harry showed no interest in, or signs of listening to, anything his Headmaster had said lately, but Dumbledore was aware of his acute attention, and was sure that the boy only waited for a phrase to take offence with to blow his top once again.

And that was necessary. The Headmaster would then have to set the boy right, and stunt the aggression before it took over. This was almost like role-play, and the old man hated the mechanics of it. Yet so much depended on it! If he did not manage to set Harry back on the right track tonight, if he failed, Tom Riddle might have an adversary less.

"So, however, when I voiced my doubts as to his statements, Severus Snape shouted at me. He really exhausted himself then... The things that came up when he confronted me with what, in hindsight, I must admit was misjudgement and gross injustice indeed, where shocking but did not move me then.

"I had never known at lot about those things, you see – or rather, I'd closed my eyes to them, nor do I know much about such incidents now. I would do it again, too: the students always try to manage on their own, and I do encourage that... I know the gist of things, and leave them to their devices. This seems to be enough already to let people think that I am informed about everything that goes on at Hogwarts.

"Going back – yes, I do feel guilty about it, because it is so obvious how much damage that one incident has done... There's always guilt there, in acting and in not acting…

"Even the Dementors that almost kissed you by the lake can, in a way, be traced back to that one scene in this very office... I am trying to comfort and console myself with the thought that I did my best in either case, whatever that is worth, and that your friends are still alive, at least.

"Had I listened in a different manner, with more sympathy for a Slytherin student, Severus might not have become a Death Eater. But then, we'd have no spy now. Counterfactual thought, however, is only good for long, lone winter evenings, for reminiscence by the fireside... By necessity, its teachings come too late always. And there's hardly time for that now at any time of the year."

Still, Harry did not move.

"So, what you saw in the Pensive that day last year was most disgraceful for your Professor, the more so since, incidentally, his memories were watched by the son of his one-time enemy who'd inflicted the tortures on him. What you saw likely was only one of several similar incidents, as I said, but that is definitely not what drove him almost over the brink when he discovered Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack after he'd broken out of Azkaban.

"Whatever you've seen there of his school time memories, whatever else the Marauders may have done to Severus Snape, was nothing compared to the satisfaction that he was finally about to lay hands on the man whom he believed to have cruelly killed his beloved, and that he could conveniently submit him to the worst fate known to wizardkind – the Dementor's kiss.

"He is a man who has never endangered any students, or anyone else, in the Order or at Hogwarts. He tries to protect whenever he can what, to him, is what is left of a home – a world that could be worth living in if it was not for individual cowardice.

"Yet, at that moment by the lake, his temper let him put revenge above all, and there was no-one to consult – very much like Sirius Black, many years before…"

The Headmaster fell silent. He neither knew nor cared right now if Harry had listened at all. It was a relief to voice some of the incidents of guilt that he felt to have heaped upon himself in the course of action.

Dumbledore merely hoped that this story would make the boy see that he eventually would have to face his own suffocating feelings.

The mention in passing of 'several incidents' at which his father and godfather had committed cruel things that involved Snape made Harry wonder how much more there was, and who else the Marauders – his father – had mistreated and abused. This first part of it did not bother him very much, feeling as he did that hardly anything bad happening to Snape could be painful enough, but had there been others? The thought grated on Harry's nerves. Even if they had, if that was so – they had fought for the light, hadn't they? They'd been members of the Order of the Phoenix, and hence of the right side. So had those …victims of theirs been evil, naturally? Or had they made them thus?

Harry felt he needed time to think this over, or even to just let it sag and settle a bit during a good night's sleep – if he could get it after what he'd just heard, but the Headmaster was not finished yet.

Dumbledore registered that Harry was stirring again. The boy looked tired, and the Headmaster knew that this could not go on much longer, but he had to cut through the knot of tension that wound the boy up once and for all before he permitted Harry to leave.

"These are the facts, then. As I told you, Professor Snape has believed, and for many years, that Sirius Black had been one of the four who had tortured and killed Idane G., and that, for sure, is something he'll never forgive. To him, the death of your parents obviously mattered less than the loss of his one love...

"The events long past were not mentioned then nor, I believe, ever after between your godfather and the Potions Professor, but the turn of events after the Triwizard Tournament has convinced even Severus that, as indeed was the case, the younger Crouch had been the hooded tormentor. He and Sirius did, after all, shake hands, if at my order, and Professor Snape would never have done such a thing had he still been convinced of Sirius involvement in Idane's death."

SIRIUS being the one who hardly deserved that gesture! Impossible!

Harry felt worn-out and utterly tired, his eyes hurt. The gnawing thought that his father and his friends had probably not been nice people at all, worthy of his loving memory and longing, even if they had fought for the light later on, was becoming too much. His anger stirred again.

Harry hated himself for the time that he, Snape appearing civil for one moment, had almost apologized for his father, for being like James Potter which, he realised, he probably wasn't: he didn't know what his father had been like!

What was it to Snape whose son he was?

That accusation of Sirius... Sirius was no killer!

Harry swore to himself that he'd make the git suffer worse than any Marauder had ever done. Worse than those four Death Eaters... no. What would that make him?

The strain became too much.

Harry lost his composure and jumped up from his chair, shouting and crying at the same time.

"HOW CAN THAT BE! SNAPE STOOPING TO SHAKE SIRIUS'S HAND! SNAPE'S SO STUPID AND BLIND – AND YOU ARE! YOU ARE TOO!"

Harry was sobbing now.

"He would have hated Sirius utterly even if Sirius had been Lord Voldemort's true follower, and had had no hand in that murder at all! YOU ARE ALWAYS TALKING IN HIS FAVOUR! BUT THAT'S NO PROOF OF HIS CHANGE! YOU CANNOT EVER RELY ON HIM AGAINST THE DARK LORD; YOU SAID SO YOURSELF!"

Dumbledore seemed to consider this.

"I have trusted him before, my dear boy, and will do so again fully, in the future. See, Harry, if you and he..."

Harry interrupted the Headmaster rudely.

"OH, STOP BLABBERING; YOU OLD COOT!"

The Headmaster gave him a long piercing look at that insult, but his voice did not change.

"There, there, Harry! May you never have to experience any more of such things than you do already...

Harry was still shaking with rage.

"I NEVER WILL WORK WITH THAT GREASY GIT! I HATE YOU, AND HIM, AND I'LL MAKE YOU BOTH FEEL IT!"

Albus Dumbledore said calmly: "I do think you better leave now, and I do expect an apology when you come back the next time."

The old wizard was not sure if it was wise to leave the boy to his own devices right now, but Harry surely would have no use for the Headmaster's regards during the next few hours, and his anger had reinstated him in his own strength. This might do…

Harry had turned on his heel, and was making for the door already. Behind him, he heard the Headmaster say:

"Furthermore, I trust you to not do anything rash around Professor Snape, do you hear me?"

There was steel and admonition in Dumbledore's voice now, and Harry felt shaken a little by the power of it, but he did turn nor give any sign that he'd heard him. He gritted his teeth. No, it surely would not be anything rash…

Tightly, he said to the office door: "Sir, good night, sir," and left, slamming it in a manner that would have done his hated Potions master honour.

Behind him, an old wizard with a long, white beard buried his face in his hands, and his sighs sounded almost like sobs.

The old man seemed to shrink, his tall, thin frame shaking slightly. Dumbledore was utterly exhausted, and deeply in doubt about his course. Eventually, he inhaled deeply, and composed himself.

It was over. The explosion had been triggered, confirmed, and channelled, or so the Headmaster hoped, and there was only one thing left to do: to wait for the results.

Confirmed – the thought brought him back to Silva Snape – she surely would do the boy good, and he turned toward the fireplace to let her know.

The young woman was appalled at his harshness of treatment of young Potter, but agreed that there was no time for sentiments, and promised to look out for the boy. There was, conveniently, a tutoring date of hers with Harry next afternoon again, too.

Her ways and manner, Dumbledore noted, once again relieved him of a bit of his burden, and brought some ease to his heavy heart, even on so brief a contact.

She was good to have around again, Silva.

Dumbledore turned back to his desk and sat down heavily.

It was done, and had gone mostly as predicted by the Potions master… He'd have to tell him. There was immediate danger in store for Severus Snape if the man was right about the outcome, too. He'd constantly been right, lately... The Headmaster hoped Snape would not be, this time. But there was no reason to think that the tables would turn just now.

Was his own assessment of character leaving him, the sure guide to people that he had always been able to rely on? Were intuition and intellect failing him? Was he really getting that old?

After a while, Dumbledore went over to the fireplace once more, threw a pinch of floo powder into the flames and said, "Professor Snape."

----------

Harry left the Headmaster's office in a raging fury, hardly able to prevent himself from running down to the dungeons and attack Snape physically. He'd actually apologised, and more than once, to that – to that git! But while he walked on, he noticed how very tired and sad he was. Harry only hoped that Filch or Peeves would leave him alone for the rest of the day.

Stopping at a high window, he looked out over the grounds, and saw many students at play, or study. The sunshine seemed incoherent; not at all what the world should look like after what he had just experienced.

Looking at that oddly peaceful display outside felt like watching TV – quite unreal. There was also a corner of the Quidditch grounds within his sight, and he heard the shouts and laughter drifting over. Must be Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs practicing, today.

The weather being summery warm, most everybody was outside in the grounds. He heard Peeves rummage and sing at a distance, and circumvented him. Could he go to see Silva again today? She would listen, and comfort him, surely… No. Harry felt he could not possibly talk to anyone right now. His mind was in a whirl, and he knew that he'd need time to digest, and by himself, to recover from what he'd just learned.

Harry walked on slowly, feeling utterly exhausted. He also was faintly ashamed of having put up such a show, but not, he told himself, of what he had said. Harry was resolved to have his revenge on Snape.

He also knew that he would regret his insults to the Headmaster within the hour, even if he did not yet, and without doubt would apologize the next time they met as a matter of course, which would be soon, too – his behaviour had been highly inappropriate, to say the least. After all, he had wanted to hear the truth, if not Snape's story, and he would have to take it as it came out, even considering the old man was mistaken here or there – but Snape...?

He had his first detention with that – with him tonight, after dinner! It would do both of them better if Harry would just have to clean the floors by hand, or to slice flobberworms.

Harry would have to see the ... git in mere hours, take his insults and derision, and look at that thin, beaky face – the face of a man who had done everything to destroy his godfather… who had known and hated his father.

What was more: how could Harry know that the old wizard really told him the truth, or knew everything, like when he claimed that Snape had relayed Harry's message about Sirius being in the hands of the Dark Lord as soon as he was sure that Harry and Dumbledore's Army had left for the Ministry of Magic by means unknown?

The Headmaster would not lie to his face, Harry was sure, but Dumbledore would not hesitate to omit facts from his tale that did not suit his purpose… Also, maybe Snape was lying, and the Headmaster did not know.

Harry decided he would let Snape have a piece of his mind right away, tonight, and make the detention worth his while.

He shuffled along to Gryffindor Tower meeting no-one, just like he had hoped. Hermione would have some lesson or other, or be studying in the library, and he'd told Ron not to wait for him. His friend was likely outdoors, practicing his flying.

Even the thought of flying did nothing to cheer Harry up. Practice by himself was not an option just now, particularly if the place was crowded with students of other houses. They wouldn't leave him alone. The Gryffindors were not scheduled for the pitch today. Harry did not feel up to face his friends, and had no idea of telling them what he had learned, or how to. That was to be left for later.

There was a tiny incessant voice at the back of his head that had been grating at his nerves ever since Dumbledore had first mentioned Sirius's rash and single-handed decision-making, chanting over and over again: 'Had you but listened! That lack of perceptiveness! Had you but used Sirius's gift!' It sounded uncannily like Snape's, and Harry hated it all the more for that.

Harry had tried to push those memories back to the farthest recesses of his brain, and succeeded there most of the time, but after what he'd just heard, they forced themselves back into to foreground with growing strength, mercilessly – and with it, the burden of guilt came back that Harry felt slowly becoming unbearable.

The common room was empty, and the fireplace not lit. The place was chilly even on a bright late summer day as this. Harry hesitated, but decided not to bother, and moved on, up the stairs to the dormitory. Waving the curtains closed, he wearily lay down on his bed to turn this afternoon's events over in his mind – and fell asleep instantly.

It had been too much altogether, his body and mind needed to sleep it off.

Ron and the others barged in a short time before dinner to change from their sports clothes and, in the case of Dean, even to take a shower. Ron shook his friend awake, but left him alone at his insistent begging. Harry was not hungry, and was back to sleep in no time.

He did not stir when the others came in briefly again after dinner, or when they made to sleep much later, never bothering to try and raise him again, but only woke when all was dark and the sounds in the room told him that it was well past bedtime. Neville's and Seamus's snores were unmistakeable.

Harry felt pretty good, wondering why he'd wake at such an hour – until recollection hit of what Dumbledore had told him and what he in his turn had said to the Headmaster.

He sat up with a jerk, making his bed creak.

What was more, he'd missed the appointed detention with Snape! That meant more apologies and, very likely, detentions – or worse, since giving Harry Potter detentions was no real option for punishment for Snape, for the time being, unless they were with, say Filch…

Surely, there was not to be any sort of private lessons ever again!

Not that that thought was much of a relief.

Harry felt that he didn't care. What if he got detentions, or lost his house points? Blast the apologies! They truly were at war! His pain and anger boiled up in him once more. Harry would go and see Snape right away – now, at night, regardless of what time it was, let him have a piece of his mind just like he'd planned, receive whatever punishment the git felt to be adequate, and be done with it.


	22. Harry Raves

**22. Harry Raves**

The Headmaster informed his Potions Professor by floo that he'd just told Harry about Sirius Black, and Snape's suspicions.

Professor Snape merely nodded to the news curtly, cut the connection, and went about his business. There was no use in telling the Headmaster that he had intended Potter to have his first Occlumency lesson tonight, and been quite satisfied with the mood the boy had been in lately when approaching him. Dumbledore was sure to know as much anyway.

That of course was not to be now, with Potter in a state of desolate anger, directed against the one who was supposed to teach him.

The Professor wondered if they'd ever manage to get along civilly, if only by half. Even he and Black had, once in a while. Not that he truly cared.

The brat would foreseeably be raging at him in just a few hours, during his detention, which was a nuisance and terrible timing, not making him hate the whole idea less. More detentions were not a way of staving this off, or of handling the matter. Probably Potter would be around to shout at him within the hour.

When he'd given the boy detention, Potter had raged too but, Severus Snape was quite sure, eventually understood the necessity of it, and the grand opportunity there had been in the moment.

Next should have been their first lesson together, 'after the truce'... Could not Albus have waited, if just a couple of days? Well, he'd likely not known they'd finally come to some sort of agreement. He might have postponed the telling of the mutt's story, otherwise.

For a moment, Severus Snape contemplated how it could be that even after his death, Black was still capable of creating pain and trouble for him.

This turn of events would very likely set a stance of a harsh bitterness to their lessons, to the boy's learning, that even the severe Potions Professor had difficulties approving of.

Yet it might be better if Potter knew the worst of it all before they started. It was difficult to fathom what would happen if he knew a lot about the Arts Severus was about to teach him, and then found out about things he needs must hate, and blame his Professor for. By being told in advance, the boy at least could not use his considerable magical powers with that new knowledge.

The Potions master wondered if the Headmaster had meant to render Potter gentle by adverse methods.

When the time for dinner arrived, Severus Snape was a bit surprised to note that Potter had indeed not come down on him in the afternoon. Nor was the boy in the Great Hall. Later, the Potions Professor was annoyed to find that the brat had no intention to be in time for his first lesson, or of honouring the appointment at all, apparently.

When the clock chimed nine, it was obvious that Potter would not come. This was something that puzzled the Potions Master. Even if angered, he could not imagine the brat to dare and stand him up, all circumstances considered. This had not happened ever before. Severus Snape had been convinced that Potter had some understanding of the urgency of the situation, and the boy had indeed shown an amazing presence of mind and grasp of things a couple of times lately. What he'd let Snape know of his thoughts had been amazingly far-sighted and perceptive, but of course that would have been a mere mood and nothing of consequence in the long run: alas, like Snape had feared, it was not to last.

It was not as if he had nothing else to do and was waiting around to execute a duty that he was not fond of anyway, but if he met the boy which he would eventually, or Potter dared to show up still, he have would tell him off sharply, and take some more points from his house, which was something that the Professor did not consider helpful at this stage of events. He would have to order Potter to be back tomorrow, but in the afternoon, right after lessons. In the evening, his Slytherins were due.

It was just like Dumbledore's Golden Boy to mess up his schedule. There even was danger in that, but surely one Harry Potter could not be bothered to consider!

----------

Stealthily, Harry got up, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and sneaked out of the dormitory and through the common room. He did not have to dress, having not bothered to undress in the first place before he lay down.

It being so late had its good sides. Harry felt not at all like explaining to his friends what he was about to do, and was too angry and upset still to feel guilty about not telling them any of his worries. They'd be off better without knowing, and having to take what he had to take, anyway...

Harry was sure that Snape would be furious. With just the faintest feeling of unease, Harry assured himself that he was not only prepared to fight the man, but looking forward to let the greasy git have some piece of his mind, and more, if possible.

Silently, he made his way toward the dungeons.

What if Snape was not awake anymore? Well, Harry would make him wake up. But the Potions Professor was known to be up late anyway, to prowl the corridors and sneak up on unwitting students, for instance.

Harry wondered what he would do if he met Snape right around the next corner, but that was unlikely. A look on the Marauder's Map before leaving Gryffindor tower had shown Snape to be at his desk in his office. After he'd gotten it back the last time, Harry had taken care not to carry it around with him if he could help it.

To make sure he was a match for Snape, Harry tried to muster the rage he'd felt against the Headmaster. Snape would be livid and try to get at Harry when confronted with his guilt and the absurd accusations he'd raised against Sirius – if it hadn't been for him, Dumbledore would probably have looked into the death of Peter Pettigrew and a dozen Muggles more closely, and with different eyes!

But the memory of this afternoon's events did nothing to get Harry into a more confrontative mood. On the opposite, it put him out entirely, making him feel indescribably sad and wanting to rush to the Headmaster's office to apologise to the old wizard right away, so he pushed it aside.

What other events were there, then? Snape, putting down Neville… His sneering face when he'd said to Hermione that he could detect no difference after Malfoy had hexed her teeth, two years ago… The Slytherins' laughter… That was better!

Somehow though, Harry could not really feel the anger anymore. He blinked. There were splinters getting between it and his thoughts – the shards of a small mirror that had lain in Harry's trunk unused when it would have been the solution to his communication problems, and very likely have answered his questions as to Sirius's whereabouts... Harry would never have needed to bother to slip into Umbridge's Office and... Voldemort would not have been able to deceive him into going to the Ministry at all. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. Sirius might still live! This was suffocating! He swallowed hard.

Harry trudged on stubbornly, refusing to dwell on that train of thoughts either.

Snape, the liar, the spy, the traitor; he who dared to blame his father and godfather for deeds that surely were more than matched by his own crimes… Had Snape not informed the Headmaster, Sirius would never have entered the Ministry of magic… Dumbledore had said nothing about Snape's actions for Voldemort, and probably would refuse any questions on the subject, but Harry was sure that Snape had killed for the Dark Lord.

Oddly, still nothing of that raised his anger... The derision came with strong words and thoughts, and Harry felt nothing but… that sadness. Yet he wanted and needed to make a clean breast of this.

He desperately needed to shout at Snape!

Knowing that Snape could perceive him through the dungeon door, he stopped in a corner away from it, and gathered his resolve.

Why had he come here anyway? It was not as if he was going to kill the Potions master, as much as he deserved death.

He wanted an apology, he decided, for Snape's wrong accusation of Black as a Death Eater.

After making sure that he was all by himself, Harry dropped his Invisibility Cloak, folded it, and stuffed into the waistband of his trousers behind the small of his back.

He stepped forward, knocked, and entered, without waiting to be called in.

Snape sat at his desk as usual, not appearing to be surprised to see him at all even at this late an hour.

The Professor asked coldly: "What is it, Potter? It can't be your appointed detention now, as it is well beyond curfew. You do realise that points will be taken, and the date has to be made up for?"

Harry ignored those words and stepped closer to the desk, staring at the man before him whose eyes were glittering impenetrably in the candlelight. He felt his hackles rise. Finally, his anger welled up. Harry hated that man before him!

When the boy said nothing, Snape resumed his writing, unperturbed, ignoring him.

Treacherously calm, Harry greeted him: "Good evening, Professor. I need to talk to you about an… issue... of your past..."

He was not at all sure how to put this, but was beyond caring, too – they would get to the point NOW.

Snape looked up at him over his quill and back right away, to resume his writing. He scribbled a few lines, then said:

"Is that so, Potter. Now what could that possibly be, and what concern of yours would my past be?"

He sounded utterly disinterested, like surprising himself by asking at all.

Harry just stared.

"I see. Surely, it would be that Professor Dumbledore has told you about the well-founded suspicions I held against that mutt of a godfather of yours? And likely, what good reasons there were for it, too...?"

Apparently, Snape had foregone all pretence of not knowing what this would be about. Surely, too, Dumbledore would have informed him of their exchange. Harry did not bother to feel betrayed.

Mutt! That did it, much as had been the Potions Master's intention.

Even before Snape was finished with this poison-laced reply, Harry grabbed the quill from him and started to tear apart papers and books, smashing vials that were standing on Snape's desk. He did not attack the Professor though.

This time, Harry's anger did not feel like a wave, cold and strong, like it had when the Slytherins attacked him, but hot, desperate, and helpless... like tears. He could not think what to do, and only wanted to see damage done, to hear the crashing and smashing of things, to ease his pain.

Oddly enough, Severus Snape noted, the boy did not have his wand out. He was merely bashing things by hand. Snape put this down to his Muggle upbringing. A dangerous habit that he'd have to deal with as well. What if there were poisons or acids about? Gryffindors! Never think, act first…

The Potions master in his turn, anticipating events, had had his wand out inconspicuously the moment Potter entered. So he calmly said: "Accio wand! Impedimenta! Silencio!", thus stopping Harry before he'd managed to floor and destroy the first year's papers Snape had been grading altogether.

Next, Snape pointed his wand at the door with a silencing spell.

The Professor went over to Harry and searched his sleeves. Putting the boy's wand away in a pocket of his waistcoat and returning his attention to the torn and broken things on the floor, he started repairing and cleaning up efficiently.

Only after he was finished with this, Severus Snape said: "I will not have you vandalise my office. The Headmaster might not mind such shows of adolescent disturbance, but I do. There are dangerous substances around. Scream all you like, but do not expect me to have you rampaging about, or do damage to yourself here! Vocare!"

Harry, prevented from more destructive action by the upheld jinx, needed no invitation of any sort to spit and curse and rail, spilling all his pain and anger over the black-cloaked man in front of him.

He accused his Professor of treason and murder, blamed torture and suicide on him... Harry called him all the names students had ever come up with for the Potions master in his time, and shouted at him the kinds of pain and riddance they had wished on him over the years. All that the Headmaster had told him came out in a jumble of anger, grief, and invective.

Snape, having finished Harry's cleaning business, merely stood observing the boy without appearing to listen, and quite unperturbed by that tidal wave of abuse, accusations, and remorse. He endured the barrage of hatred with untypical patience.

When Harry ended, breathless and in tears, proclaiming "I HATE YOU, YOU BASTARD!" in a roar fit for a stadium, the Professor looked at him quietly and in a probing manner, as if expecting more to come.

Snape did not need to use Legilmency on Harry to read him and, when nothing else came out, did not ask in his usual acerbic manner: 'Are you finished, Potter?' or some such thing but, after a few moments of regarding the exhausted boy, said quietly: "Why?"

Harry was perplexed. That was not a reaction, or question, he'd expected! He ranted on: "Why on earth not? Why not kill you? You are a mean git, and you betrayed Sirius, my godfather, and my parents... you… No..."

He almost howled by then, tears now flowing abundantly.

It was obvious to the Potions Master that Potter was dangerously close to the edge, and that he did confuse things. He'd insulted Snape's ancestors and his propensity as a teacher, called him names, and threatened murder; and not only hoped for, but been sure of a flaring counter-attack, since he knew oh so well which buttons to push with the Potions Master, but no...

Severus Snape always gave as good as he got, didn't he? Harry had not needed Dumbledore to tell him that.

Harry had fully expected to be thrown out of the dungeons physically, with at least 50 points off Gryffindor House, and a month's worth of cleaning duty with Filch.

He'd planned on going to the dormitory once that was settled, intending to hide in his bed and to cry about the injustice of it all, about the greasy git that the Headmaster wanted him to pair up with, and to wallop in his guilt... He had planned on missing out school tomorrow, to find some rest and think about his future. Harry had dared to think, only in passing though, that he might leave school just like Fred and George had. That he might even find work with them…

All this, of course, to avoid the issue of Sirius and his gift... Well, he'd cry for Sirius, and maybe feel a tiny bit of relief...

"That blasted mirror!" he sobbed.

A gift? A mirror? The words had not been very distinct. He decided to use Legilmency on the boy, who did not notice the quietly whispered spell due to the state he was in.

When Dumbledore had told Harry in the afternoon about Snape's suspicion, and the impossibility to clear Sirius's name right now, Harry had been aware, even through the haze of his own pain and rage, how difficult saying this had been for the Headmaster, and the memory of his own utter failure of Sirius, the more so because of the forgotten gift, had returned to him with a vengeance. Harry had still managed to push it away, and slept rather well.

Now it came back with full force.

The pain Harry had felt when he'd held the little sliver of glass in the dormitory, last year... No-one besides himself appearing in it, regardless of his imploring... The cracking, tinkling sound when it broke in a corner of the trunk... The cuts it had given him when he collected the shards, later, at the Dursley's, and how he had eventually tried to cut himself with each one of them, trying to cover them with his blood, to atone for... for...

His eventual attempts at repair, and the blinding tears... Every night… No more nightmares of Voldemort, as there ought not to be in the Dursley's home, not that there was any need for additional horrors for Harry, that summer…

The Dursley's fear of an Order visit, when he continually refused to eat now that they offered him everything, their muttering about ingrates whenever they thought he didn't listen, would have been comical, if it hadn't been for the reasons of the refusal. They had buzzed around him like fat flies, trying to find out what they could do to avoid further magical incidents from happening in their home. Aunt petunia had been more like a thin moth rather, but the absurd notion did nothing just now to cheer Harry up or distract him.

Finally, he'd been picked up by Moody, Tonks, and others, to be taken to the Weasleys. The Burrow had been charmed unplottable by the Order and put under Ministerial guard, so they all should be safe from surprise attacks at least: Bill and Tonks had been around all holiday, and Moody came in every other day.

Harry had asked him to see the photograph of the Order meeting again, and to hear the stories... Moody had promised him a copy if he ever found the time, and indeed managed to give him one before the holidays were over.

Snape saw all this in images flashing past, most of which did not add up to anything much for him. Potter was confused as was usual, by now only mumbling. He seemed far gone. Snape was wondering whether he should call Madame Pomfrey.

The image that was most prevalent was that of a mirror, in shards. What was that about?

The Professor watched the crying boy who seemed, momentarily, to have lost his speech completely. This was an improvement, Severus Snape thought. Potter was writhing on the floor, swaying slightly and rolling his head with some unfathomable emotion.

He had been quite impressed by Harry's fluency in insults. So, this was out. He knew more now about how he was looked upon by the students of houses other than Slytherin than he had ever before, not that he cared.

Right now, the Potions Master could see a range of emotions move across the boy's face like cloud shadows, and did realise that they had to do with his old enemy, and feelings of guilt Potter himself harboured because of Black's demise.

He would not push his finger into that wound now.

Harry hated Snape with a passion because the Professor dared to confess to his hate of Black, and had given the boy an initial reason to review the idealised images of his godfather, and father, by that transgression with the Pensieve...

Severus Snape knew he ought to have guessed what kind of effect those memories would have on a boy like Harry who had never really known any of those involved in them, but the old pain and humiliation, his own rage about the outrageous trespassing on his privacy, had been too strong. And again, why should he have cared?

Looking at the prone boy whose face was covered in tears, Snape also realised that today, after more than 20 years, it was probably time for himself to rethink: to get over these events, over his old injuries.

Another reason to despise Potter jr.: he made him feel old and outdated, and realise how very long ago these things had taken place.

Snape could not recover them now, neither the memory, crisp and fresh as a newly-painted picture still in the Pensieve, nor his anger... Was that a twinge of pity in him, on seeing a distraught boy on the floor, humiliated so much like he himself had been humiliated, if only by his own doings? No way would he admit to any similarities to the Gryffindor golden boy!

Snape's methodical mind returned to more present matters at hand. There seemed to be more to this. Objectively, something had wounded Harry Potter badly, almost to the core, and this was connected with the feelings of guilt he tended, but apparently pertained neither to the event of death and loss of his godfather as such, nor to the rash carelessness of Potter's actions in the matter, nor, apparently, to anything Dumbledore had told the boy, but to the image of the broken mirror. This was odd, and validated investigation.

Tears started to roll from half-closed eyes again, as was often the case with the boy these days.

It was far from the Potions Master to make fun of that; on the contrary, he envied the capability to find such release as it was not a gift he himself possessed. It did come easier with the young ones, of course.

Surely, he himself would never be honoured with Potter's trust, nor was he sorry about that.

But this obviously had to be out, and soon. Whatever it was, was visibly eating at the boy's substance and health. Snape knew about devouring pain, and also about the need to release it, to shake it off and carry on regardless.

After that, they would have to get to work.

Albus had done a good job so far, unearthing pain after pain and scar after scar, to enable Potter to rid himself of such impediments... He did not seem to have seen this one, though.

That blasted boy needed a lot of attention. The Professor had come to the conclusion, some time ago now, that the childhood of his enemy's son had not been all that enviable after all.

To be sure, what was doing the damage here would be revealed eventually, and very likely soon. Then, someone would have to do the catching of a falling star.

Snape hoped that the Headmaster was up to it, then thought of his sister – a line of thought he generally avoided – and felt quite sure that she would be the one left with the pieces to pick up. For all he knew, Dumbledore had informed her even before he'd bothered to tell him that Potter was on the prowl.

Pity her! Why did she have to come back?

Severus Snape had to admit that his estimation of the boy had been wrong in parts. Potter's arrogance was obviously a mechanism of self-defence and, as such, not one employed by the weak.

What he'd heard from the Headmaster and Order members by now about the treatment those Muggle relatives of Potter's had afforded the boy had led him to being impressed, rather against his own will, that Potter had not taken more harm from it.

Apparently, the Order had only come to know this during the last year, when Potter had returned to school half-starved. Another mistake of Albus's…

It had, however, apparently imbued Potter with a desperate longing – well, to belong, that would be very dangerous to their aims, if only Voldemort was capable of the faintest show of sympathy.

Snape wondered whether he should play that string, or whether he could at all, then decided that he, the greasy Potions master of abrasive manners was, of all people, definitely safe from a bestowal of affection on the side of the boy regardless of what he would do.

Still, Potter was lying on the floor, impedimented. He said nothing any more, but cried harder and harder, making no sound.

Snape knelt down by the prone boy's body.

The boy tried to flinch.

"Finite incantatum!"

Lifting the jinx, Snape threw a fresh handkerchief at Potter.

Harry sat up slowly, avoiding to look at his Professor, and blew his nose.

He scrambled up.

The Potions master watched him closely, scrutinising for any sign of attack, but there was none. He had Potter's wand anyway, but the wind seemed to have gone out of the boy, he was utterly done for.

Snape said coldly: "As it seems that you are finished insulting me, and have nothing more to say, I suggest you leave my office. You are in no state to work tonight."

He'd not taught him at this hour either had he been in any case, but Snape wanted Potter to know that now that he had been forced to teach him, there was no escaping his lessons anymore, and that anytime Potter was free would do. Also, he would not take points or apply detentions just now if he could help it.

"I expect to see you here tomorrow at five, in a state fit to work. Should that prove impossible, I expect you to notify me in advance, giving a plausible reason! Do not expect me to let you go off unpunished should you ever dare put up such a show again, or miss out a detention! Have I made myself clear? Now get to bed, Potter!"

Potter stared at him through fogged glasses, unreadable, turned on his heels, and ran for it. The door banged, and Snape wondered when that little moron would remember his wand.

Snape flooed the Headmaster right after Potter had left. Dumbledore was still working in his office, no surprise there. The Potions master told him that there must be more to Potter's pain than they had known so far. He also expected the boy to run for the old wizard, unless he went to see Silva.

"He rambled incoherently about a mirror. He's in no state to be left alone tonight, Albus, and you should probably warn my sister, and inform her about what has taken place today."

"Why don't you…"

"No, Albus. Have a good night."

Snape cut the connection.


	23. The Mirror

**23. The Mirror**

Harry barged into the Headmaster's office only minutes after his clash with the Potions Professor, still in tears. He had made for the gargoyle as straight as school architecture allowed. Harry needed to talk to Dumbledore now, to get rid of the terrible guilt he felt whenever he thought of Sirius or the mirror, and he was sure that he would not survive another night alone with this horrible feeling eating at his heart and mind.

Luckily, Albus Dumbledore was still up, and did not seem to be expecting other visitors or, for that matter, overly surprised at Harry's sudden visit.

Out of breath, the boy stammered: "Sir... I need to talk to you... NOW... Do spare me an hour… another… I..."

"Sure, my boy, have a seat. What is it that you want?"

The unperturbed serenity of the Headmaster calmed Harry somewhat, but he remained standing, composing himself. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

One thing had to be gotten out of the way immediately.

"I am sorry, sir, for insulting you the way I did – yesterday, it surely must be by now. I had no right to... I just felt that your explanations were some sort of excuse for telling me that Sirius had been wrong, and by inference, that I had been, too... None of it can ever justify insults like those I made, and I would be happy if you accepted me back. I fully realised that I asked for this, to know, and I still stand by that. I do have to know. Will you forgive me?"

Harry swallowed. This had come out in a jumble, but he was sure that he'd gotten his meaning across.

The old wizard had held his hand up even before half of the speech to stop Harry, who had not heeded it.

"My dear boy, I do realise that my manners seem often a bit long-winded to you young ones, and you can better than others appreciate the ...ponderous side to them.

"Let us not dwell on the issue. You could insult me further if you wish: I need you by my side, as a fighter to our cause."

Harry stared into the eyes of the old man who just had relented and made him feel his own powers. He was needed, insults or no!

He was simultaneously proud, and more sorry than ever before. This was all too much!

Harry thought he might faint. The old man did not have to tell him that he trusted him, and Harry knew that he would not ever use the powers he had against him...

"Do sit down now, my boy!"

Harry did, almost slumping backwards when an armchair nudged his calves, and gratefully accepted the glass of pumpkin juice that floated beside him out of nowhere as had become the use in their meetings.

He smiled weakly at the Headmaster, and was quiet for a while, thinking of a way to put his next question.

Which was, foreseeably "Lemon drop, Harry?", and he gave a snort, and declined. Somehow he felt much more at ease right away, even without taking one.

Harry decided to be blunt, since he did not find a more diplomatic way of putting in words what he really needed to know, and he'd asked it already in so many ways... He needed to know how things worked. And the Headmaster had been blunt in the first place, hadn't he?

But then, Harry had gravely and gratuitously insulted him, and this was treacherous terrain, literally. He just had to know all the aspects of it – maybe he'd be fully convinced in the end.

He had noticed that, with the realisation before himself of his biggest secret about Sirius, his grief had let up, and the hatred, too. The issue of his godfather's actions was closed, in a way. It had found an ending which was not very agreeable, but likely a kind of truth. Or truce.

He would not act rash, or all by himself, like that…

"There still is the one question that I will repeat to ask until I fully understand the answer, if you don't mind, sir..."

Albus Dumbledore nodded his assent, knowing what that would be.

"You've mentioned all kinds of proof... Yet...

"Please don't be angry with me, Headmaster, but I've just got to ask that again - are you sure that Snape is really on our side? Why do you do trust him?"

The Headmaster pondered that.

"I gave you several reasons why, but I think this question about PROFESSOR Snape now is of a more... philosophical kind, right? Like, how and when can I trust someone who I know to have been an enemy, and who, by his duties, still is forced to inform said enemy on me?"

Looking expectantly, Harry nodded once.

"Well. I can only answer that, while it is never good to be gullible, or overly trusting of a feeling, mistrust on first sight, or prejudice, can be fatal to relations of any sort. Yet, I never trust anyone implicitly without good reason, and my feelings are as important a part of that as are inquiries in the more difficult cases. It is hard to explain, and not easily achieved for many, the less so the more they tend to see the world in hard contrasts, in blacks and whites only, lacking the greys. Much of it is based on experience, on the effort to find out, instead of dwelling on first impressions, whatever they may be. One can go wrong. I believe that sort of judgement to come with experience... To not trust someone in any way, or to ever give up vigilance even without distrusting them, or allowing distrust become a denominator of one's life or that particular relation, all can be destructive...

"With Professor Snape, there is the added difficulty of his being a spy for both sides. I can only claim that I trust his decision to turn away from his allegiance to Voldemort to be definite if I cannot trust his actions, but am forced to accept them as being in favour of our cause."

The old wizard pondered the boy before him.

"This is not really helpful, is it, Harry?"

Harry gave him a lopsided, still-tearstained grin and shook his head.

"Thank you anyway, sir, for bothering with that question once more. I guess I've just got to stay around and try to learn and obtain such experience, right?"

Dumbledore smiled at him warmly. This boy was really brave... He was much relieved that Harry's attention was not on his grief and anger anymore. He was also sure that Harry would eventually stop blaming Snape for his godfather's death, particularly since he had to face what the Potions Master's beliefs, and the reasons for his hate, had been.

Dumbledore knew, and had said so before, that Severus had grasped the message Harry had thrown him and, upon verification that the children really had gone, relayed it instantly to Dumbledore while they still were hurrying for the Ministry to look for Sirius Black, to enter into that fateful battle.

Over steepled fingers, the Headmaster continued to speak. "Trust him, not trust him – I might not believe his each and every word, yet I am sure he does not even think to try and deceive me. To have Severus Snape around, and deal with him, is not easy at all, but always a kind of fight, a war that is always on, quite beyond Tom Riddle and his dark aims. This has become a fixed way with him since Idane's death, but her death is not the reason for it. It is in his fierce, quarrelsome, and, at its base, insecure nature. He's not had a loving family …either, as you might have gathered in your lessons with him.

"There is not much choice here. Yet, I do even call him a friend occasionally which you will have noticed as well.

"I am still trying to find out whether he faked any of his memories, not that this would be easy or all that important; and I do not know nor care if he ever tried to find out what I put in the Pensieve, but would wonder if he hadn't tried though. There are two facts, though: that Idane Groenbergsdottir is gone, dead, and that he, Severus Snape, has loved her, if ever a man loved.

"I make sure on my part that I do not leave anything he is not to see in there before returning it to him, particularly if that memory concerns Order matters – there are certain things that would be of no use in there anyway. Sometimes, the full weight of a memory is needed. Be that as it may – again, I am sure that Severus loved Idane, and was deeply wounded, wounded to the core, by her death, Harry. Someone like the Professor will not remain loyal to a master who has done such a thing to him."

There was a pause, not awkward though, in which Harry tried to contain feelings of anger and grief as they welled up in him again, to return to more pressing business at hand.

He would just have to confess up, but the time was not right yet. Soon though, tonight, he would.

"Professor, do you think Snape believed all the time that Voldemort would return, or even that he did still live somehow?"

Dumbledore lowered his head for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He fully realised that Harry Potter, this time, was inquiring into himself.

"I would not know, Harry... Do try to call him Professor, though. Well, considering all, I actually am sure that he never did believe Voldemort to be dead. Neither did I, for that matter, but he had more proof than I did, by his Dark Mark. Severus insisted on keeping his cover all the time after he came back to teach at Hogwarts for good.

"It seems that the Dark Lord does not consider him to be his most trusted follower these days... I was sure at first that Professor Snape was the one Voldemort referred to when he said, in your presence, that one of his Death Eaters had probably left him forever, but then... Voldemort did not address all Death Eaters present at his resurrection while you were there, did he?"

Harry shook his head in bewilderment.

"You do realise, then, young Potter, that I must not know?"

Harry did not, but he was sure that this was quite beyond his understanding for the time being – and also that he, unless he wanted to play a really big game of his own which he did not, and was sure he couldn't, had to trust and hang on to Dumbledore and, by this, implicitly trust Severus Snape.

"I hope Voldemort will never be sure too, until he's been done with!"

"Oh yes, Harry, that I dearly wish for, too..."

They remained silent for some time. Even though what had just been said had not been in the least reassuring for Harry, or answered his questions really, the boy apparently felt greatly relieved. The Headmaster was sure that Harry would fully understand in the end that the matter of trusting the Potions master was an issue of life and death – for Severus Snape in the first place, but also for everyone in the Order, and, not least, Harry himself.

But… There was something else. Harry would not have barged in like that just because he'd confronted Severus Snape late at night. Probably the boy was about to come to terms with his guilt… Severus had said that there was more to it, and mentioned the word 'mirror'.

The Headmaster waited patiently for his student to come forward with it in his own time.

Harry found it almost impossible to broach what really was on his mind. Now…

"Sir, you said, some time ago, that Sn... Professor Snape buried his own pain deep within himself, and would not for his life ever think of going about profiting from it... He's so snide about it, as if I enjoyed the popularity, from being the boy-who-lived, or asked for it – after all, my parents had to die so that..."

Harry was on the verge of tears again, more about the injustice of the treatment that he felt than the loss, this time.

"But I do not go on about mine either, most of the time – everyone gets at me! They come to me with it and ask! Try and touch the scar, my head – as If I bring them luck!

"But you did, you did, Harry!" Dumbledore interjected.

Harry did not listen. "Or they think I am crazy and a liar! They don't care how I feel about that! Their pitiful troubles, as if a scar could solve them... a scar like me... I can't even help myself to get rid of it! That damn scar – If it wasn't there, I would not be recognized by everyone, or, at least, not right away...

"That scar... If I could just remove it!"

"Hm... You tried, did you?"

Harry nodded. This was embarrassing, a bit at least. He had tested everything from magical remedies of the most dubitable kind when known spells would not work, to hair bleach, to some hydrochloric acid he had found in his uncle's gardening shed in the backyard at Privet Drive. Most of it had hurt something awful, nothing had worked, and all of it had made his nightmares worse. The best so far still had been Muggle make-up, but he could not bring himself to put that on regularly.

"People would at least have to know what my – my father looked like... If I really do look so much like him. But they can always recognise that damn scar, never mind who it is on!"

"Enough people still know what James looked like, Harry, if only from papers and books... Just let me say two things: first, you are not your scar, and second, more important, not 'a scar' at all, either. Do not never ever think about yourself in those terms! You are better than that, and do deserve better than that!

"Also, you have had some publicity all by yourself in the past years, deserved and undeserved, don't ever forget that... That was because you are brave and stand up for what you believe to be right and true!"

This felt good.

"And the scar does get you sympathy and some sharing of the burden, does it?"

Harry had to admit that.

"That scar even made you some excellent friends..."

"No. NO! Ron and Hermione are not my friends just because of that! To Hermione, it was just something she'd read about, however exciting, it didn't mean much when we met! You... you are only saying that to provoke me, aren't you...?"

Dumbledore smiled ominously.

"So let's say then that you made wonderful friends in spite of it, right?"

The Professor looked at him, head cocked.

Harry stared back, realising the old wizard was right. The scar was not the reason for either his happiness or his misery in that area, nor was it even important there.

He felt somewhat relieved.

"So, this is where you are free, Harry. See, my boy – Professor Snape does not have that chance. He cannot have such popularity, or the mere relief of sharing details of his underground activities, not even with me, and even if ever this war is over, I think he would not have it, of himself. He has to bear on – alone, being the man he is. But I know that he stumbles under the weight occasionally, and that he tends to have such weakness out on others. He is not a just or kind man.

"He has never made many friends due to his abrasive manners... He didn't need a scar for that either, see? Such a scar would not make him more likeable, approachable, or despicable, or made him friends. Had he had your fame, he would still be haughty and abrasive. He would very likely still appear to be acerbic, and his manners, cold. You can't compare your situation to his, and neither can he, no matter that he seems to do just that, or seems to spite your popularity. Consider that a test of your own use of it.

"His reasons to treat you to his contempt – if such a sentiment it is indeed – are of a different order.

"Severus Snape has lost the one love of his life. He feels guilt because of that, and is not able to share that terrible loss (with anyone but me, which he bitterly rejects) – if mainly for strategical reasons, or so he says, and that is not quite untrue... Can you understand, Harry, what that means? It's not like with you, or Neville Longbottom, that he was really too young to remember... What is more: what happened was largely his own fault, the result of wrong decisions he alone made. Severus knew what he did – or thought he did..."

Harry remained silent, thinking.

Dumbledore's speech took another tack.

"Pity, to Professor Snape, is a most despicable and suspicious emotion, and that's another aspect: I think he hopes that you might detest pity like he does, thus sharing some part of the suffering... And I think that you do, most of the time."

Harry was amazed. It was true that he detested to be approached and pitied because of his scar, or loss of parents rather, but Snape feeling the same?

"But – Professor Dumbledore, Sn- Professor Snape had it coming to him – he was a Death Eater, and he surely has committed outrageous crimes in their name?"

"Yes, he has, indeed. That is just what I said, see? And without Idane, without her death even, he might never have changed his ways... Which, as I do believe, does not make that burden of his easier to bear, don't you think? Or her loss less of a loss to the world in general."

Considering the old wizard's words, Harry nodded.

"But I still cannot feel – well, much sympathy, or pity, or..."

"Which is just as well. You do not have to. Remember what I just said about pity, or sympathy! You just have to work hard, trying to give your best, when you are learning with him. That is the one and only way for anyone to earn his respect.

"I do think Severus is right about pity, in many respects. Consider this, too, Harry: if Professor Snape was a more, well, likeable, person – like, say, Hagrid, or Arthur Weasley – don't you think it would be very easy to feel for him, like you do for Neville, who is, or seems to be, very weak, and a kind enough boy, right? No matter whether the person in question has been, or could be a Death Eater, or not?

"Severus Snape is strong and hard; a survivor; not a companionable man, and does not on any account allow for sloppiness, or bad work.

"Do you think what makes a person precious is their likeability, or a pretty face?"

Harry sat quietly to that, thinking about Snape's fierce pride and secrecy, his unforgiving attitude toward any kind of mistake – mistakes he might once have made himself – any mistake really, as if any mistake, however small, could lead to ruin and to darkness. And it could… Mistakes were made, of course. Some were there to be made, the saying went, but to learn by them, and to avoid them in the future. There was more than a hint of bitterness in the man. The abrasive manners... His innate strength. Would it not be good to have that – well, as an ally?

He ventured: "Snape's not one for sympathy, you said."

"True enough, Harry. So, what do you think he deserves or should try and do, instead of being what he is? You could try and accept him the way he is..."

There was nothing to say about that, but –

"I still do not think I like him, even if I understand some of this, Professor Dumbledore, sir. I can respect him, or his attitude, some of it at least, I'm sure I'll try, but he will have to respect mine, too; accept me, to use your own word, if we are not to fight and quarrel among ourselves all the time."

Harry was amazed at his own words.

Dumbledore hurt in premonition of what he'd have to do now, but it all had to be out. Would this day never end? Severus had been right once more when he said that he expected Harry to show up at the Headmaster's office within the hour, and he was very likely to be right as well in that there was a deeper pain still behind that guilt the boy felt about his godfather's death, and probably connected with it. He had to get at it. Harry had to make a clean breast of those things; he would never be able to fight to the full if he bore such weights. There was no time to let the pain fester, ripen, and spring open of itself.

"Right, that he will have to. If you just cared to listen and think before you acted, I am sure he might...

"If you had heeded your Professor's words, many things might not have happened – and the Ministry might still be able to convincingly cloud over Voldemort's return, whichever the Ministry's reasons for that may be... The price for this truth coming to light that you, that Sirius Black had to pay, was high. Just like the price Severus had to pay to turn back from Voldemort and his ways."

Harry stared at the Headmaster in terrified surprise. Dumbledore was getting to the subject Sirius again, as if he knew what Harry felt!

"Now, Sirius's death... He was flamboyant, your godfather, and all the waiting-around for clearance by the Ministry was hell for him. He was sure it would never happen. I've said it before: Your godfather was ever one for action, to act rash, and could never be stopped once he had set his mind on a course. You should not blame yourself for what happened! It was a death he'd have chosen for himself, in a battle, and something like this was to be expected sooner or later..."

Remus Lupin had said much the same thing. Harry was shaken and had to swallow hard, his eyes wide with a kind of terror, but he managed to keep his composure for the time being.

Dumbledore was destroying his defences! There also was now more than pain: the need to know.

The Headmaster admired how Harry fought to keep his defences up, but he would not have it. Whatever it was, it had to come to light now.

Harry tried bravely anyway.

"But how, Professor Dumbledore, can Sn- Professor Snape order me to calm my feelings or to control my emotions, to forget them and let go of them? If just those feelings turned out to be my strength and saved me in the fight in the Ministry?"

Harry knew that in the Ministry, only one thing had saved him, and that had been the Headmaster's interference! Although Voldemort probably would not have bothered, had Albus Dumbledore not been present...

"And while Snape always and ever again shows me his hate for me, his contempt? – Snape – the Professor does not control himself at all, at any time! He himself does not hold anything back! He has so many feelings and emotions, and they are all negative!"

"Well, Harry – or are they? How can you possibly know? What does he show you? How dare you judge his feelings at all? Can you be sure he does not control himself? After what I told you, how can you really believe that he does hold nothing back, or that what he shows you is all there is to him, or that what you see is what he is at all? If you can believe that, is it not proof of his accomplishment and mastery of the Mencies? Do you see what you want to see, or what he wants to show you? Or do you see what is real? Could you show him as little of yourself?

"In short: can you, with honesty, claim that do you have any truthful idea of what you would see if you could really see him? Of who Severus Snape is?

"In a way, it's just too bad that he could not possibly have participated in that fight in the Ministry – for what you would have seen then would have amazed you, I am positive!"

Harry swallowed hard. He did not want to talk about this –

The Headmaster felt the storm drawing nearer. So it had to do with that fated fight. And Severus was wrong about Harry's lack of resistance to Legilmency or other forms of intrusion. Or was that just him once more, with his weak spot for the boy?

But quite besides keeping Snape's cover, he had to be here at the school, to maintain the wards...

"In any case – if you, just for once, had obeyed Professor Snape that day, and had done what he ordered in your lessons, you'd not have come to be in the Ministry yourself to start with, right?"

Nothing. Harry was motionless. The Headmaster wondered if the boy was still breathing.

This now was the stillness before the storm. A final blow…

"AND SIRIUS WOULD STILL LIVE, THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE SAYING, ISN'T IT?"

Harry shouted, half-rising from his chair while scrambling to escape his terrible crushing feelings of guilt.

Close, but no, that was not it. Dumbledore continued as if he had not heard Harry.

"Cornelius Fudge would still believe I was after his position as a Minister – and that all of your experiences were just lies, figments, conjured up by a pained, maddened young mind... This, Harry, is GOOD. Only the price to be paid was terribly high.

"Voldemort would have gotten the Prophecy into his hands. Not that it would have mattered all that much. He knew it; he just did not know, and still doesn't, that he knows enough of it or, rather, that his mistake has long been made."

Harry had settled down again, if uneasily.

"We did not guard the Prophecy so much in order to keep Voldemort from it, but to maybe catch him while he was trying to get it, in order to be able to give proof of his return, and even defeat him right there... And that did happen, if not in the way that was intended at all.

"We now have no place we know of that he'd have an interest in to visit – besides Phoenix Order headquarters and your head, Harry, both of which is BAD. But we achieved one of our objectives – if at a very high price: to make his return known.

"If I say GOOD or BAD here, you do understand that to be strictly strategical reasoning and not a judgement of your person or actions, don't you?"

Harry nodded, unconvinced, shivering a bit. Too much, too much… Sirius… If you just were here…

"For reasons by now obvious to you yourself, young man, I cannot let you in on actual Order matters and plans until you prove to me the mastery of Occlumency; what is more, you might not even want to know. This is not a mere matter of age anymore at all! The story I've been telling you here in instalments, and which is far from over, should be proof of that. Consider what my narrative is already doing to you...

"But everything that is to do with the past, you shall know."

The boy was absolutely shaken, and Dumbledore could feel that there were neither tears nor fight left in him – he was facing his own terrible feelings of guilt, something he'd have to get rid of, and soon, to live on. The cure would be terribly hard… And still, Harry was resisting – by passively holding on to the concept of himself that he was familiar with, and to his guilt as a major, if relatively fresh, foundation of that picture. A bit of the fatherless victim was there.

The old wizard felt quite some admiration for such strength.

It also meant, though, that he would have to shatter the boy… now.

Guilt was not for wizards - they generally considered, and knew, what they were doing, before they did it. It was a matter of strength: To stand up for one's own actions, whatever the outcome, not denying a bit of it.

"Things have to happen as time goes along! No, probably not – not that it would have done Voldemort any good – there was nothing new in that prophecy really, was there? Voldemort would have tried to force you to do his bidding again and again, with fading success. He would have tried to get the Prophecy and, with increasing strength, into the Ministry again which, as long as he has no hold over the Minister himself in his hands, would have been impossible – regardless of gits like Percy Weasley...

"And the quietist front had already cracked, not everyone did still believe Fudge – or the Daily Prophet, for that matter...

"What happened then was very tangible proof, and for our good.

"I say it again: There is no blame on you, Harry. I should have told you many of these things earlier; things I still do not think fit for a boy to hear, and there were so many other ways this could have gone...

"One thing you can do is to try to not feel guilty, or proud, or afraid, of any of that, but instead take these things as the facts they are or could be – deftly, with determination and sensibility, AND MOVE ON. Not resigning yourself to them, either, but, well... vigilantly. Like Moody says."

Dumbledore grinned.

"Try to take events as things given, not to be worried about. There are so many other things to worry and grieve over..."

In that moment, Harry fully realised that, regardless of how much the old wizard claimed to like him, he, Harry, would always also be a pawn for him. He clearly saw that such calculation were something that probably existed in each and every relation, be it among wizards or Muggles, but mostly, usually, in a dishonest, underhand manner... That he, by destiny, by being what he was, was prone to live in such calculated relations – at least as long Voldemort lived. That most people, even wizards, preferred it that way, even if wizards were rather more straightforward about it. Harry also saw that keeping those facts out of one's conscious considerations did not mean that one was not doing those things, wasn't playing the game, or that one was being more honest, or acting without such premises... The only thing he had left to do was to try and really play that game himself. Harry hated it.

It was a lot. Harry sighed heavily. Who could he trust? HOW could he trust? Was that a matter of common aims? Then he might as well approach Snape, who always had been most straightforward in such matters, and was reliable in his dislike of him... He'd not expect anything but to be played in that quarter...

And could he still trust himself?

For a long time, neither of the two wizards spoke.

Then, Harry said: "Oh well. I guess I understand. I... I do trust you again now, sir, as I've done implicitly right from the day I came into the wizarding world. That obviously does not mean that you need trust me in a similar way. There are many ...incalculable factors connected with me, right?"

He did not wait for a sign of affirmation.

"One of them being that I am, in a way that I cannot understand nor control - yet, connected to Voldemort... Do you understand how, now? Does he, the wise Potions Professor, by any chance? Can you explain anything about it that I've not heard yet, or that you did not consider me fit to hear so far?"

Harry could not keep the bitter edge out of his voice. He felt utterly worn, as if he'd somehow aged twenty years at least in the last few hours, something that not even Dumbledore's report on the background of Sirius's history with Snape had been able to do to him.

But he was in control of his own affairs. He was no pawn anymore, and would never be again, to anyone. People might try to play him, and even succeed sometimes, but not as a mere pawn. He would need to play them, too. Harry still hated the thought. He would try to do it as openly as possible, and avoid it wherever he could!

The Headmaster was amazed how the boy, instinctively, had steered clear of the dangerous waters where that old monster Guilt lurked, of the existence of which both he and the Potions Professor were sure. Harry even seemed composed again, and almost fresh... To have these tremendous capacities trained, and by a man like Severus... Carefully, Dumbledore moved the rudder back.

Piquing him with the fact that he was not only a beloved young man, but also a pawn, should have done the thing... Dumbledore decided to be straightforward.

"No, Harry. I've not been holding back anything in that respect. We do not know. None of us does, nor do the Aurors, Harry, but we all agree that you do have to learn Occlumency, whatever the cost. If you ask Professor Snape, you will find that he agrees as well, which is why he is willing to give it another try.

"You may now feel to be used by me, or the order, for purposes that you cannot discern and feel you might not like, but in no case, Harry, with all the power you wield, must you become a puppet of Voldemort!"

"But I would never..."

"That's I why I say 'a puppet': you might be unable to notice yourself that someone is pulling your strings – for instance, if the Dark Lord ever gathers some kind of deeper understanding about what connects you to each other that we don't have. I will not allow that to happen!"

The Headmaster's determination was unmistakeable.

Neither would Harry, he wouldn't! But to avoid it, he'd have to learn so much…

"Right now, Voldemort might be most concerned about excluding you out of his mind, but that might change again, Harry!"

Harry hung his head. He remembered well enough his idiotic rashness in reacting to the terrible vision of Sirius tortured in the Ministry, never for a moment suspecting that the images could be mere conjecture by a very powerful wizard. He had been so stupid!

Whenever he thought of Snape now he had to think of the insults he'd thrown at the man an hour ago, and thinking of pawns made him think of Sirius and his rashness, how his godfather also had fallen for false impressions more than once. Whenever those thoughts coincided, there was pain… There it was again – fundamental grief.

Harry couldn't help himself now. The memories that had brought him to the Headmaster's office tonight were threatening to overwhelm. The terrible guilt he had felt when he insulted Professor Snape for something that had been entirely his own fault – as he had to admit to himself when – even when he had found the little mirror... And images of that mirror and of irrevocable mistakes had brought him here tonight...

Would he care at all if Snape died tonight and he'd not, once more, apologised? No, he decided. But then, Snape was not Sirius... what was he thinking!

Harry's mind clouded, and he felt tears starting to fall. Again. He'd become some wet blanket, and in mere hours! Luckily, it mainly happened here, with Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to be making a sport of provoking them. And with Snape, of course, but that was to be expected.

If he'd at least bothered to look at his Godfather's gift earlier! That would have spared them all many a thing! Finding it at the bottom of his trunk at the end of the year had been the final straw for him, a nagging pain in the back of his mind all summer: Had he just had that little mirror ready when time came, nothing of all that would have happened. He'd never have had to bother with intercepted owls, that toad Umbridge's office, Snape's thick-headedness, and...

He was in tears, finally. Oh, his bloody mistakes! Rashness, unreliability, obstinacy... No wonder Snape did trust him as far as he could throw him! Which still, considering the physical realities behind that stupid old proverb, was likely to be a bit further than he could throw Snape.

The pointless silliness of that thought made Harry snort, and his tears shot forth once again. He was inane, not a wizard at all…

Dumbledore said: "You do wish to look into my eyes again, outside of a setting like this, don't you?"

And Harry nodded to that.

"Harry, Harry – stop torturing yourself about things that cannot be undone. Try to count your losses and gains, and DO go on! Be sure that there are people who love you – fallible people, all of them, but they love you regardless."

But Sirius was not one of them anymore. He had to look into one mirror now.

"Oh sir... I can't take it... anymore…"

This was obviously not about what they'd been talking about all these days, but some more private grief.

"What is it, Harry? Will you tell me?"

The storm was about to break loose.

The boy nodded and, without looking at the Headmaster, pulled up his nose.

Dumbledore would hate him so! He'd been so stupid that last year! None of this would have happened had he just bothered to open a small packet – a gift of love, too! If he'd merely looked at a gift from the very man who'd been all the family he still had!

But Harry would make a clean breast of it now. In a small voice, he said:

"I have to say it, I think… What almost killed me... kills me, is Sirius' leaving gift, after Christmas holidays last year... the memory… I only found again it when I packed to leave, before the summer holidays... I had to think about it all summer...

"I'd never opened it, or bothered to unwrap it before then. I put it away because I was sure it only would get Sirius into trouble. So I didn't know what it was, and had never realised that it was a perfectly safe communication device with him! I've no idea if he tried to contact me, he might have, a thousand times! He'd even said as much, but I put it aside because I did not want him to get into more trouble after that stupid incident at the Hogwarts Express where he was recognised by Malfoy, and I forgot about it completely..."

Harry's voice rose steadily in pitch and volume, and was losing its quiver. The Headmaster detected unmistakeable signs of impending breakdown coming on.

"I didn't look at it… The memory of it did not even come back when you said that order members had safer methods of communication than floos in badly-warded offices... Had you just let me in on that! Only the night after you told me about the Prophecy I found it, when, when, when I packed..."

Harry swallowed hard. His distress was obvious.

"What gift was that, Harry?" Dumbledore said gently, nothing betraying his curiosity. A mirror…?

"Oh… sorry… It was a little two-way mirror that Sirius wrote he and James had used often... He'd written on its back that I just needed to say his name to see and speak to him; he would always keep his about him. So it might be with him behind that veil, but he won't answer.. Nearly-Headless Nick said that he went on…"

Harry was out of breath, sobbing, but would not be stopped now. Unperturbed by his own crying, he inhaled.

"I'd but have to have used that thing, and I would have known instantly that Sirius was nowhere near the Ministry! No Kreacher to get between us... Hermione still doesn't believe that, by the way, you know?"

Harry gave a mad giggle that was dreadful to hear for the old wizard. But finally, the story was coming out.

"Oh sir! His death was all my fault, no matter if I try to blame it on Snape, or you, or...

"And... and all we got for it was HALF AN ADMISSION THAT VOLDEMORT IS BACK FROM THE MINISTER – PEOPLE STILL DON'T BELIEVE IT, AND..."

The floodgates had opened. The boy was screaming now, letting out all the pain, his loss, the months of inner torment, and the raging anger.

"AND SIRIUS, HE'S DEAD!"

Dumbledore was startled. This was really bad! Once again, Sirius Black had acted without telling anyone. Had he himself known as much... But he'd never even suspected as much as his students being in the possession of such a precious thing. This was Sirius Black's fault, no-one else's, and for all Dumbledore felt right now, probably his worst.

The existence of such mirrors did solve some little mystery or other, too, as to how James Potter and Sirius Black had wrought certain kinds of mischief while they still were in school.

The old wizard went over to Harry's chair quietly, scooped the crying boy up in his arms, and held him gently, steeling on the arm of the chair. Harry was still too light for his age… A weight settled on his shoulder. Fawkes the Phoenix rubbed his soft feathery head on Harry's cheek in a familiar gesture, caressing him and trilling, almost bursting into song.

Very slowly, the pain receded, and the bitterness of guilt left Harry.

He smiled up faintly under his tears at the man who was holding him.

"It's good to have… told someone."

"I should think so, Harry. This is not your fault! Really, you are too young to have to bear all this... You could not know! You should have come earlier to me about it... I should have told you... No, leave an old man to his ruminations! But I do understand that you could not come to me, not even after my words to you before you left. I should have realised it was my move to make. I'll never be able to forget that – or to forgive myself... Most of us have such secret pains."

"But mostly, they haven't cost a life!"

"Some have though, young one, some have..."

Albus Dumbledore waited for the boy to look at him and said, with a small sad smile, looking away instantly:

"As long as you can learn to live with it, Harry – please do live..."

The boy snuggled to the old wizard's thin chest nodding, almost falling asleep, but crying all the while.

After a long pause, the Headmaster asked: "What happened to the mirror?"

Harry was awake. The flow of tears had stopped.

"See, sir, I first was so sure that I could reach Sirius behind that ... Veil with it... I tried and tried... it did not work. I even asked Nearly Headless Nick about the people who become ghosts."

Harry sniffed, and tried had not to cry again.

"I think I was half mad then. I smashed it in my trunk, in anger... when it didn't work..."

"A pity..."

"Yes, but I reassembled it as far as I could, and whenever I feel great, and wise, and the need to do something without further thought …or council…, I look at it. It's almost as if Sirius was with me then, sir, and mocking my careful attitude... But that merely reminds me to pay more attention – to what people do when they do it, and how, and why they do it, and what is said about all that, even in the back pages of shoddy gossipy newspapers, and not to jump to conclusions... It helps… I do try to take council... If I look into it now, I still only see myself, scattered…"

The boy snug into the old man's beard, crying again, and Fawkes jumped into Harry's lap, wrapping him in coppery wings of gentle fire, trying to touch as much of him with his soothing presence.

"Have you tried Reparo on it, young Wizard?"

Looking up, Harry grinned faintly under his tears.

Better. Much better.

"No, and I didn't even think of that for a long time. It was only when my glasses broke again one day that I remembered the spell. But I decided I'd rather have the shards, stuck together the Muggle way, for now... 'Cause that's what is left: shards, right?"

They said nothing for a long time, staring into the embers of the grand fireplace in Dumbledore's office.

Much later, Harry whispered: "I hardly ate, or bothered to leave my room during holidays, or what time of them I spent at the Dursley's, the first time ever that I was allowed to do as I please, and eat as much as I wanted to, and I never reacted to their baiting and shouting anymore... It made them desperate when I never responded, and still refused to eat. They were so very much afraid that Moody might come back! They did provide me amply because of that, and of course called me an ingrate when I didn't take to it. In the end I did eat, of course, but still not enough, it seems."

His voice changed to something like hardness for a moment.

"Everyone told me how thin I was when I came back... But I'd made my mind up to kill the bastard first."

Through his tears, he smiled at Dumbledore, who said, eyes averted: "You do have to eat to be strong to fight him, you know?"

A faint grin answered that.

"You see, sir, no-one knows about that mirror, I think. It was very good to tell someone who can understand my stupidity, and might not judge me though..."

The Headmaster smiled at his hands, quietly.

"Believe me; I won't judge you, my boy. You're doing too much of that yourself already, and I forced too much of it on you..."

"You can't help it, I guess..."

Albus Dumbledore did not react to that.

But a little while later, when Harry was starting to doze off rather peacefully, he rose, and carried the young one over to a corner where he summoned a couch. Let him have a few hours of peace after making a clean breast of that... What a terrible story! As if Harry Potter had not enough of a burden to carry! It was always the small things that hurt most.

That mirror would have been useful indeed. Again, Black had not said a word about it to anyone, it seemed, which was just like him. Nor had he apparently tried to use it, but then, its counterpart had been sitting at the bottom of a trunk, still in its gift wrapper. A final, a fatal mistake.

Dumbledore stretched his long legs walking about a bit, musing about the fact that even wizards had to suffer from limbs going to sleep separately, and that, after all, the boy had put on some weight since the holidays, regardless of the ordeal those feelings of guilt must be – have been, hopefully – for him.

Oh Harry, this would have been so important to know! Had he but known, he could have reminded the boy of the mirror... If this had been anyone's fault, it was Black's own, for the worse because of the weight it put on Harry. What a godfather to have… Dumbledore had seen more than enough lately to share much of Severus's view of the Gryffindor, as much as he disliked it.

The Headmaster wondered if Sirius even once in his life had considered what kinds of pressure he bestowed on others, on this boy, with his peculiar type of attention and care. He'd always been like that, valiant and careless. A brilliant fighter, not a strategist – and not a family person.

----------------

"Good morning! Did you sleep well, young man?"

Harry stretched. He realised that he was still in the Headmaster's office, and on a very comfortable couch, too. A level golden ray of sunlight hit the wall above him, illuminating a deserted portrait with nothing much but a worn armchair in it. Judging by the light, it must be morning, and really early still... He felt well-rested and refreshed; better than he had in days, or weeks, rather.

Gradually, the events of the evening before came back, and he blushed, feeling deeply ashamed. The pain about the loss of his godfather was still numbing, but Harry was also very relieved to finally have told the story of Sirius' mirror to someone.

He'd insulted Dumbledore, yesterday, and later on Snape, for no reason at all...

"Thank you, sir. I hope it was not too bad for you, last night..."

Albus Dumbledore merely shook his head, dismissing the issue.

"Do you have any more questions, or do you want to get ready for breakfast?"

Harry also shook his head, insecure whether he ought to apologize again, or what else to do.

"My boy, do get in over there and clean up. Then go have breakfast – if I'm not mistaken you've had no real food since lunch yesterday, and must be hungry. Do you want a cup of tea and a bit of chocolate right now? Life will stare back kindlier..."

While Harry washed his face in the tiny cabinet bathroom that Professor Dumbledore had surely conjured for just this purpose, he realised that the Headmaster apparently was not in the least angry with him anymore, if he'd ever been, that was; and stepping out into the light-flooded office, Harry suddenly noticed how beautiful a morning this was.

He smiled at Dumbledore who avoided eye contact. This annoyed Harry, but he realised that even last night, when he had barged in unannounced, the wards that were set for their talks must have been down.

The chocolate and tea were great.

Then the thoughts of Sirius came back, and he felt guilty again. Dumbledore, seeming to read him even without looking at him at all, said: "You see, Harry, there are things that you'll have to cope with in addition to all this, mistakes that seem so very stupid and unnecessary – we all make them –, but I am sure that Sirius would not have wanted you to grieve, but to fight – to get ready to fight..."

Harry took that to be his leave and nodded. He got up, stretching some more, but then realised that the old question of trusting Snape still bothered him.

"I do think I have to apologize to him again... This gets boring," Harry said in an attempt to make light of the matter, but blushed again immediately at feeling so relieved, and felt silly for his behaviour...

"If I just could felt I could trust him… Oh, and I do think he still has my wand!"

Harry blushed with embarrassment.

Dumbledore did not need to ask who Harry was talking about.

"I am sure it is perfectly safe with him, Harry, but if you wish me to I will ask him about it – you don't have Potions today – no?

"No – but I do have a… a detention with him, in the afternoon. I think I'll ask him myself, sir. I'll just have to do without it until then, I guess."

"Very well. Not to worry, Harry. If it is with him, it is as safe as it can be. You've got lessons to catch – you should run if you want to shower, and get some breakfast, and be on time; I've got things to take care of, too.

"You don't need to mention to your friends what this all is about if you don't feel up to it yet."

Harry looked at the Headmaster who looked away quickly. There was no stirring at all of the Snake. It appeared that Voldemort was not on alert at the time.

"But that would..."

Be a betrayal of trust, he'd intended to say. Harry stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly realising that the Headmaster was probably right in assuming that he was nowhere near ready to even tell just bits of what he'd come to learn, and that this had nothing to do with trust at all.

Some of his considerations of last night came back to him. He did need time to think.

"But that would be lying or betraying their trust, wouldn't it?" Harry asked, just to hear another view on the matter.

Dumbledore shook his wizened head.

"I don't think so, my boy. Just consider what damage might be done if you tell things that you don't know the full story of, like right now, or have not entirely digested... Take it slow – those facts you learn here are not needed anywhere else but in your head and heart at the moment, to be made good use of. There is a time to speak, and a time to be silent. The time to speak will come."

The old wizard smiled.

"You may want to see Silva Snape, though."

Harry tried and indeed managed to honestly smile back, feeling unaccountably relieved again by the manner of Dumbledore's mentioning of what was a grave matter, and a mistake he'd made – more than once, after all. He decided to take the advice.

"Got to run now, sir... thank you for letting me stay over!"

"Do try and have a good day, Harry!"


End file.
